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EVELYN EVERETT GREEN, 


ATHOR OF “HBAD OF THE HOUSE,” ETC. 


God blesses still the generous thought, 
And still the fitting word he speeds, 
And truth, at his requiring taught, 

He quickens into deeds. 


Whittier. 



BOSTON: 

BRADLEY & WOODRUFF. 





v 3 

*V 


\ 




V 


Copyright, 


1890. 

By Bradley & Woodruff, 



CONTENTS. 


♦ 

Chapter 

I. MR. TEMPLETON’S FAMILY, • 

II. A COUNTRY COUSIN, . • 

III. MRS. SEYMOUR, . • 

IV. AN ENIGMA, . 

V. THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE, 
VL A TERRIBLE BLOW, . 

VII. SPEAKING OUT, 

VIII. MISS TEMPLETON “ AT HOME,” 

IX. PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT, . 
X. SICK CHILDREN, . • 

XI. THE SISTERS, . • 

XII. A RIVER-SIDE PARTY, 


YAGB 

7 

20 

34 

48 

60 

78 

92 

105 

120 

134 

149 

162 


XIII AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT, 


A 


176 


CONTENTS, 


* 

VI 

CHAPTER 

XIV. A SURPRISE, 

xv. Ralph’s decision, . . 

XVI. A VOCATION FOUND, 

XVII. GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK, 
XVIII. CONCLUSION, 


PAOB 
. 188 

. 203 

. 216 

. 230 

• 245 



DOROTHY’S VOCATION. 



CHAPTER I. 

mr. Templeton’s family. 

Y dearest Dorothy,” said Claudia with a 
little laugh, half condescending, half 
mocking, “ girls with vocations do not 
& care about riding in the Park.” 

“ I did not say I wanted to ride in the 
Park,” answered Dorothy. “I don’t; I think it is very 
dull. But I should like sometimes to have a ride 
again — a real good ride out into the country ; but 
I never get the chance. You always say the horses 
are wanted for something else. I don’t quite know 
why you and Mabel always get it all your own 
way; I think my turn ought to come just now and 
then.” 


7 


8 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Claudia laughed again, touching Dorothy’s face 
with the tips of her gloved fingers as if she had 
been a child. This kind of condescending treat- 
ment always ruffled up Dorothy’s feelings more 
than anything. She was twenty-one, only five 
years younger than Claudia, and three years 
younger than Mabel ; she had at last been intro- 
duced in society, and she saw no reason why she 
should be treated by her sisters as if she were a 
mere school-girl. She was not aggressive or exact- 
ing — she accepted the third place as a matter 
of course ; but she could not see why matters 
should be arranged as if a great gulf divided her 
from her sisters. She had willingly remained in 
the schoolroom a decidedly longer time than most 
girls do ; but now that she really was “ out,” and 
had made her debut , not altogether unsuccessfully, 
in society, she failed to understand why she was 
kept so studiously in the background. 

“ My dear child, you must be reasonable. We 
have only three horses, and papa cannot get on 
without his ride in the Park, and he likes Mabel 
and me with him. In the afternoon there is 
always something to be done, or else in the even- 
ing. You must consider the poor beasts. With 


HR. TEMPLETON* S FAMILY. 


9 


all the work they get, long country rides are out of 
the question. You go into your district like a 
good little girl, and give the children their music 
and French lessons. One of these days you shall 
have a turn in the Park, I daresay ; but you know 
papa is not fond of any changes.” 

Dorothy said no more ; she turned away in 
silence, and quickly mounted the carpeted stairs. 
Her sisters laughingly gathered up their habits and 
swept away to the hall-door, where the horses were 
waiting. Mabel observed, in passing, that she 
hoped Dorothy was not “ going to be troublesome.” 
These words reached the ears of the younger sister 
as she ran upstairs, and brought a quick flush of 
mingled anger and pain to her cheek. 

Mr. Templeton’s large and commodious house in 
Belgravia was luxuriously furnished as far as the 
second floor. It was arranged after the fashion of 
most town houses. On the ground floor were 
entrance-hall, dining-room, and study ; on the first 
floor was a suite of reception rooms ; on the second, 
four good bedrooms appropriated to his own use 
and that of his two elder daughters, with a spare 
guest-chamber when need for one arose. But 
though there were two more storeys to the house, 


10 


DOROTHY* S VOCATION. 


the air of luxury and beauty that pervaded the 
lower rooms stopped short here ; the staircase itself, 
which had been fine and wide, narrowed to smaller 
proportions after the second floor was passed ; and 
the carpet was no longer soft and yielding to the 
foot, nor did palms or flowering shrubs adorn the 
turns and corners. 

Dorothy, however, heeded nothing of this as she 
ran lightly up to her own little room upon the 
third floor. Here, at least, beauty blossomed out 
once more — beauty of a quaint unconventional 
type ; for Dorothy had a passionate love of the 
beautiful, and had lavished endless care and taste, 
and a good deal of money, upon this little domain 
of hers, which she had gradually transformed into a 
miniature museum of art-treasures. Gorgeous bits 
of needlework, cunningly disposed, lighted it up as 
with gleams of sunshine ; choice etchings, engrav- 
ings, or autotypes graced the walls; richly-coloured 
bits of pottery (some really good, others only 
beautiful from their colour and shape) stood in 
quaint medley upon table and cabinet, together with 
odds and ends of brass and silver work, bits of 
wood-carving from Germany and Switzerland, and 
grotesque Oriental figures or models in china of 


MR. TEMPLETON*S FAMILY. 11 

beasts and birds — the gifts of her little half- 
brother and sister. The furniture was as mixed as 
the ornaments. There were two qunint-looking 
carved oak cabinets, a modern walnut dressing- 
table with large swing -glass and brass handles, 
and some bamboo lounging-chairs with plenty of 
cushions. A well-stocked bookcase and a cottage 
piano completed the furniture, for the bed itself 
and other accessories of a sleeping-room stood in a 
little dressing- closet that opened out of the larger 
room and contained a hanging-cupboard for dresses. 
Dorothy liked “her room,” as she called it, to be 
something more than a mere bed-chamber. She 
liked to treat it as a boudoir, and in summer most 
of her time was spent here in reading, music, or 
study. She was not much addicted to making 
friendships, but it was pleasant to feel that she had 
a place of her own, where she could see her own 
special friends if she wished to do so; and this little 
sunny south room, with its two curtained windows 
and its bright array of treasured possessions, all 
her own, was the pride and delight of her heart. 
On her last birthday, which, being her twenty-first, 
had been something rather more special than usual, 
she had got her father to give her a writing-table 


12 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


of black walnut to match the dressing-table. 
It stood in the corresponding window, and was still 
a source of pride and joy to her. Dreams of 
authorship had long been silently cherished within 
her, and she was seriously meditating the plot of 
a story that was to be the first stepping-stone to 
fame. 

But no such pleasant thoughts of literary glory 
were in her head as she stood in the middle of 
her little room to-day, recalling, with flushed cheeks 
and sparkling eyes, and a sense of hot, angry 
irritation, the patronising airs of Claudia and 
Mabel’s mocking glances. She had a quick, warm 
temperament of her own, and she could not live 
altogether in her own dreamland ; the realities of 
life were too strong, and her own nature was too 
practical and concrete. She knew she was not 
unreasonable in what she asked for herself, and she 
resented being treated like a child. 

An artist would have found considerable pleasure 
in studying Dorothy’s face and pose just then. 
Without being beautiful according to any received 
code or canon, there was something very attractive 
and piquant in the girl’s bright, intelligent face, 
with its delicate, slightly retrousse type of feature, 


me. Templeton’s family. 


13 


its large, dark, luminous eyes, and rich damask 
colourings that town breeding could not dim or 
pale. The head was small, and crowned with a 
mass of dusky wavy hair which could not be kept 
smooth and neat ; the figure was slight and grace- 
ful, instinct with energy and animation. Dorothy 
was not short, she was fully up to medium height; 
but, being small-made and slight, was often taken 
for less. Claudia and Mabel, who were both some- 
what taller, and altogether on a larger scale, were 
fond of calling her “little Dorothy,” and speaking 
of her as a child ; but there was nothing childish 
in either face or figure, both had attained the grace 
and dignity of early womanhood. The girl had 
been a good deal noticed and admired since she 
had come out, and perhaps it was this which had 
given to her something of the new sense of power 
that generally comes to a woman sooner or later, 
and is just a little bit intoxicating when it is new. 
But Dorothy’s moments of passion and rebellion 
were quickly over, and as she put on her hat and 
gloves, and took up the little basket that always 
accompanied her when she went into her district, 
she already felt half ashamed of her sudden flush of 
anger. 


14 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


By the time she reached her pretty room again 
every spark of vexation had been quenched. There 
is nothing like personal contact with those who are 
battling with the real hardships of life, the very 
struggle for existence itself, to teach us the com- 
parative insignificance of our own petty troubles 
and woes. Dorothy’s felt dwarfed into utter insig- 
nificance as she sat down in her. pretty room after 
her walk, leaning back upon soft cushions, and 
seeing nothing but beauty and harmony around 
her. She almost wondered how she could .ever 
have allowed herself to be vexed, simply because 
her sisters kept the horses for their own exclusive 
use. 

“ What a little, little mind I must have,” said 
the girl, half aloud, “to let such silly trifles as 
that annoy me ! How I wish I could act a little 
more up to my own ideals ! ” 

Dorothy had never been content to drift along 
the current of life in the easy , fashion some girls 
do, especially when they have been brought up like 
Mr. Templeton’s daughters. She had always had a 
loftier code of her own, higher ideals, more earnest 
aspirations, and a far more real hold upon those 
deeper truths that are so often accepted as a 


me. Templeton’s family. 


15 


matter of course without being in any practical 
way a light to the eyes and a guide to the steps. 

Many years ago Dorothy had gravely asserted it 
as her opinion that every woman should have a 
vocation of her own. When pressed, with derisive 
laughter, to define what she meant by a vocation, 
she had not been altogether successful in the 
attempt; but she made it clear that her idea 
of a vocation was something involving self-sacrifice, 
and somewhat, if not altogether, incompatible with 
the ordinary occupations of a fashionable young lady. 
She had never been permitted to forget this saying 
of hers, nor, for that- matter, did she wish to. 
Only, as the phrase “Dorothy’s Vocation” had 
come to be a favourite family by-word and 
jest, she often felt somewhat sensitive upon the 
subject, and resented the laugh always raised at 
her expense. Every disagreeable duty as it turned 
up was handed over to Dorothy as a part of her 
vocation, and, to do her justice, generally accepted 
as such, and performed in a praiseworthy spirit after 
the first sense of irritation had worn off. When 
the second Mrs. Templeton had died three years 
ago, leaving four little delicate children behind her, 
the youngest barely a year old, the elder sisters had 


16 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


impressed it upon Dorothy that it was undoubtedly 
her vocation to look after the motherless little ones, 
and she had gladly accepted the charge, supple- 
menting the efforts of the daily nursery governess, 
and being to them something between mother, 
sister, and playfellow — a something that entirely 
won their hearts, and made Dorothy the sun and 
centre of their lives. 

When the good pastor of their parish had tried 
to enlist the sympathies of the Miss Templetons on 
behalf of the poor around them, of course it was 
upon Dorothy’s shoulders that all the real work 
fell. It was so in a hundred little minor offices, 
and the girl was so used to be thus employed that 
it was seldom she rose in revolt. A strong, con- 
scientious wish to do right, and to make something 
more of her life than a mere vehicle for amuse- 
ment, gave her energy and patience and forbear- 
ance, and on the whole Dorothy was very happy, and 
little disposed to quarrel with her lot. 

When she had cooled down from her hot walk, 
and had re-done her unruly hair, washed her hands, 
and put on a cool, pretty cotton dress, she left her 
room again, and the moment she put her foot out- 
side the door, the close proximity of children was 


mr. Templeton’s family. 


17 


clearly indicated by the babble of childish voices. 
In fact, with the exception of Dorothy’s own room, 
the whole of the third floor of the house was given 
up to nurseries, and the door of the schoolroom, or 
smaller of the two day nurseries, was close to that of 
her own room. 

Opening this door softly, Dorothy stepped across 
the threshold. Three out of the four children were 
sitting round a table, at which the nursery gover- 
ness presided. They were pretty, gentle, delicate- 
looking children, with an essentially town-bred air. 
They did not look as if they would ever have energy 
to chase butterflies across sunny meadows, or run 
races along garden paths, or tumble about in tho 
hay-fields, as country children do. Even six-year- 
old Winnie sat at her books with a demure air of 
quietude, almost absurd at her age ; and the “ baby- 
brother ” Bernie, squatting in a corner over his toys, 
was still as a mouse at his games. 

Bertie and Wilfred were saying their lessons to 
Miss Mansell the governess, an elderly woman with 
great experience of nursery discipline. She was very 
patient and painstaking, and Dorothy thoroughly 
liked and respected her, though she wished some- 
times that she would infuse a little more life and 

B 


18 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


merriment both into her teaching and into her 
little pupils. 

Dorothy’s advent at the close of lesson hours was 
always hailed with an outbreak of gladness, as 
animated as anything these quiet children ever 
indulged in. To-day was “ half-holiday ” too, and 
Miss Mansell left at one o’clock, which meant that 
sister Dolly generally spent the afternoon with them 
and often took them to the Park. 

To-day was to be a red-letter day in that nur- 
sery, for the children had been promised a visit to 
the Zoo the first fine warm Wednesday afternoon 
that came, and they saw by Dorothy’s smiling face 
that the promise was to be made good this very 
same half-holiday. 

It was kinder of the sister to take them 
than they could understand, for money was not so 
plentiful with Dorothy that she could organise a 
party like this without self-sacrifice, and she never 
appealed to her father, who disliked to be asked for 
money at odd times, though he gave his daughters 
a liberal allowance, which Claudia and Mabel sup- 
plemented by running bills, which he paid amongst 
housekeeping accounts without very much noticing 
the items. Dorothy never got into debt, and her 


ME. TEMPLETON’S FAMILY. 


19 


charities crippled her resources to a considerable 
extent ; nevertheless, the children were indulged 
by her with a treat from time to time, which the 
elder sister enjoyed as much as they did. 

“ Poor little dears ! ” she thought that day as she 
brought them home, tired, but ecstatically happy 
with the pleasures of the afternoon, “ if I did not 
take them out sometimes they would never go 
anywhere or see anything. It is so sad for little 
children to have no mother 1 ” 




CHAPTER IL 

A COUNTRY COUSIN. 

ELL, I do call this tiresome ! 99 exclaimed 
Mr. Templeton at luncheon-time a 
day or two later, looking up from an 
open letter. 

“ What, papa ? 99 

“ If there is a thing I hate, it is a crowd of poor 
relations fastening on to one and bothering one out 
of one’s life, expecting to be introduced to one’s 
friends, and to have the run of one’s house ! I do 
wish country bumpkins would stay where they are, 
without being determined to see city sights and 
sponge on their unlucky relations there.” 

Mr. Templeton was an idle, fashionable, “ about 
town ” man, addicted from paucity of ideas to out- 
bursts of feeling, when things did not quite please 

him, out of all proportion to the subject-matter in 

20 



A COUNTRY COUSIN. 


21 


hand. Claudia knew this, and asked what had 
happened, without much anxiety. 

“ Happened ! Why, this has happened : that a 
cousin of mine — or rather my mother’s cousin she 
was, though a good bit younger than my mother 
and a good bit older than me, has suddenly taken 
it into her head to come up to town with her family, 
and of course she expects some civilities from me. 
As a boy I knew her well ; but I haven’t seen her 
this thirty years. She went and married a man as 
poor as a church mouse, and I ’ve never heard a 
word of her since. I only hope she hasn’t brought 
a whole tribe of needy children with her in the 
hope that I shall ‘ do something ’ for some of them. 
She ‘ has hopes of seeing something of me and mine/ 
People never want to see one unless they think 
there ’s something to be gained by it. I know the 
world ! ” 

“ What is the name of these people ? 99 

“Seymour. I remember the marriage. She 
married rather late in life — the man, as I say, was 
as poor as a church mouse. Can’t think what such 
people want coming to town like millionaires. 
They’ve been living all their life in some little 
rustic hole nobody ’s ever heard of. No doubt she ’ll 


22 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


wear crinolines and poke-bonnets, and they'll all 
talk some horrid provincial dialect. And they expect 
ns to introduce them in our set ! ” 

“ I don’t see that we need do that,” answered 
Olaudia, who was used to her father’s exaggerated 
way of viewing things, and who had now possessed 
herself of the letter. “ Mrs. Seymour writes like 
a lady, and does not seem to expect any great 
things of us. I don’t suppose they are as bad as 
you make out if they are relations of ours ; but of 
course country cousins are a fearful nuisance hang- 
ing on to one through a city season. We must 
manage to give them the go-by quietly and 
politely ; but there ’s no real difficulty about that, 
if one only goes the right way to work.” 

“ Well, well, but what is the right way ?” asked 
Mr. Templeton, in a sort of nervous fidget. “ What 
am I to say ? What are we to do ? If she doesn't 
get an answer of some kind to her letter soon, 
we shall have the whole house invaded by a 
crew of needy Seymours — ill- dressed, provincial 
people one would blush to own ; I know we 
shall!” 

Claudia smiled in her serene way. 

“I don’t think we shall be invaded quite in 


A COUNTRY COUSIN. 


23 


that fashion, papa ; but there is an easy way out 
of the difficulty. Dorothy can go and call at this 
place this afternoon, and explain how very busy 
you are, and all of us, at this time of year. She 
can say some civil things about hoping to meet 
sooner or later, but can avoid making any definite 
appointment. There is little danger of our being 
in when they return the call. Dorothy can show 
them some little civilities in the way of taking 
them about to see the sights, and so on. A little 
diplomacy goes a long way with unsophisticated 
people like that; and if they are so poor, they 
will not be staying long. If you leave matters 
in my hands, I will undertake that you shall not 
be troubled.” 

“ It shall be Dorothy’s vocation to look after the 
country cousins,” cried Mabel, clapping her hands. 
It was Mabel’s rdle to be . girlish and giddy, as 
a sort of foil to the more stately Claudia. “ It 
will be an office after her own heart. She will 
love playing the part of lady patroness to a whole 
crew of poor relations.” 

“ Well, well, my dears, settle it your own way ; 
only leave me in peace,” answered Mr. Templeton, 
in his nervous, irritable way. “ I never did care 


24 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


for Selina Rivers — Selina Seymour she is now. 
She wasn’t my style at the best of times, and 
will be less so than ever now. Be as civil as 
you like to her yourself, Dorothy, but don’t you 
go and let us all in for a family intimacy. You 
understand ? ” 

“ Perfectly, papa,” answered Dorothy, with a 
little flush in her cheek. “ When would you like 
me to go ? ” 

“ Oh, the sooner the better, else we shall have 
them all here. Make it plain to them that we 
are in a perfect whirl of engagements, that it’s 
really all but impossible to get a spare hour to 
oneself, and that we are out every night of oui 
lives.” 

Dorothy’s face had put on a look which made 
her sisters think it would be better to let her go 
on her errand without any further hints or cautions. 
They knew how “foolish, unpractical, and unworldly- 
wise” their younger sister was, and that she was 
the more likely to take to people who were poor and 
insignificant than the well-to-do and successful. 
She was very well suited to the mission, for she 
was certain to be warm and cordial herself ; yet she 
must know her father and sisters too well to attempt 


A COUNTRY COUSIN. 


25 


to force upon them an acquaintance they wished to 
repudiate. She had plenty of shrewd common- 
sense, and no lack of tact when she chose to exert 
it. In this case she was likely to do so for the sake 
of sparing the feelings of the “ poor relations.” 

Dorothy started willingly enough upon her 
errand. She was not in the least shy, and had 
no fear in the prospect of an encounter with her 
unknown kinsfolk, whilst the fact that they were 
poor and despised warmed her heart towards them 
better than anything else could have done ; and 
she made up her mind that anything she could do 
to render pleasant their sojourn in town should not 
be lacking to them. 

She did not know the name of the street in 
which they were lodging, but the quarter was good, 
and when she reached the place, she saw at once that 
the houses were fine and large. It was a private 
hotel, she discovered, at which they were staying, 
and it seemed to her from its aspect as if it could 
hardly be a very inexpensive place of resort. How- 
ever, that was no business of hers, and, in fact, 
proved nothing. 

She asked for Mrs. Seymour, “or any of the 
family,” giving in her card at the same time. 


2 6 Dorothy’s vocation . 

She was detained a. few minutes in the hall whilst 
the messenger went to make inquiries, and was 
then taken upstairs and ushered into a pleasant, 
spacious first-floor drawing-room. It was tenanted 
only by a tall, long-legged young man, who had 
evidently been reclining on the sofa, and who rose 
up as Dorothy appeared, and held out his hand. 

“ How good of you to come so soon, Miss 
Templeton ! I am so sorry my mother is out ; 
but she will be in very soon, in less than half-an- 
hour ; I hope you will wait and see her. She will 
never forgive me if I let you go. I suppose I 
must introduce myself to you. I am your cousin, 
Ralph Seymour. Cousins should always be friends, 
should they not ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I ’m sure ; I never had any,” 
answered Dorothy promptly, something in the lan- 
guid, half-humorous, half-nonchalant air and manner 
of this tall young man awaking within her an 
instinct that she should have to hold her own with 
him. “ You ’re not my cousin at all, really ; you ’re 
only,” after a moment’s rapid calculation, “ you ’re 
only my second cousin once removed ; we ’re not 
even the same generation. I don’t call that a 
relationship at all.” 



I 


t 



































A COUNTRY COUSIN. 


29 


His sleepy eyes were gleaming beneath their 
heavy lids. 

“Now that is what I call really unkind,” he 
answered ; “a sort of repudiation of country cousins 
which cuts deep — I assure you it does ; and I am 
very sensitive on such points — I am indeed. I 
thought better of you from the promptitude of your 
visit, and from the kindness of your face. I 
thought you would be willing to solace the loneli- 
ness of an invalid by remaining here at least till 
my mother returns.” 

Dorothy’s colour had flown up at the words 
“country cousins” — a fact not unobserved by the 
sharp eyes of the cousin in question. She sat down 
as he finished his speech, looking at him with more 
attention than she had vouchsafed before. 

“I shall be pleased to wait and see Mrs. 
Seymour,” she said, “ especially as she will not be 
out long. Are you an invalid ?” — with rather a 
sceptical look at the broad shoulders and long limbs 
of her companion. 

“ Very much so, indeed,” he answered, extending 
those same long limbs in a semi-recumbent posture 
upon the sofa. “It is mainly on my account that 
we have come up. My case is critical, you see.” 


30 


DOROTHY’S VOCATION. 


“I don’t see anything. You look well enough. 
What is the matter with you ? ” 

“Well, that, of course, they don’t absolutely 
tell me. I incline to the opinion that I am in 
the last stage of a decline.” 

Dorothy laughed heartlessly. 

“ You look like it ! ” 

“ Looks are proverbially deceptive in such cases. 
Some day, perhaps, you will hear the truth from 
others. Then you ’ll be sorry you laughed at me.” 

Unfeeling Dorothy only laughed again. 

“I should not think you had any brothers and 
sisters, have you ? ” she asked with apparent irrele- 
vancy. 

“ No; I occupy that touching position of an only 
child. Fils unique , you know.” 

“Very unique indeed, I should think! I 
guessed as much.” 

“ May I ask why ? ’* 

“ Oh, if you ’d been one of a lot of brothers and 
sisters, you ’d not have been allowed to get so lazy, 
or to give yourself such interesting airs. One gets 
stirred up, you know.” 

“ You speak feelingly — from experience, I pre- 
sume ? ” 


A COUNTRY COUSIN. 


31 


“ Oh, yes, I have plenty of experience. I have 
two sisters older than myself, and three little half- 
brothers and one sister ever so much younger. It ’s 
a great thing to be one of a family; it keeps the 
nonsense out of one.” 

Ralph’s long, dark grey eyes were twinkling 
sleepily. 

“So it would appear, indeed. Then I was 
wrong just now in addressing you as Miss 
Templeton ? ” 

“ Yes ; I ’m only Dorothy.” 

“ I ’m so glad ! ‘ Only Dorothy * is much prettier 

than the other. I like cousins to be friendly. I ’m 
only Ralph, you know.” 

“ I did not say I was * only Dorothy * to you.” 

“ Pardon me, it was certainly to me you said you 
were * only Dorothy.’ ” 

“ That ’s not a fair way of putting it.” 

“ I ’m so sorry; I thought it was particularly fair. 
I’ve a constitutional dislike to those clever people 
who are always splitting hairs, and trying to make 
a distinction without a difference.” 

“ By which, I suppose, you mean me ? ” 

“Not at all. I was trying to show you that 
I could, under no circumstances, suspect you for 


32 


DOROTHY’S VOCATION. 


a moment of belonging to that objectionable 
class.” 

Dorothy felt that she wanted all her wits about 
her to hold her own with this country cousin. 
She began to entertain a shrewd doubt whether 
he was quite so countrified as she had been led 
to expect. He had an ease and a self-possession of 
manner that certainly had nothing of rusticity in 
it, and accent and intonation were perfectly re- 
fined without the faintest trace of provincialism. 
Neither was there anything suggestive of the 
“ poor relation ” either in the young man him- 
self or his surroundings. If the Seymours were 
poor in their country home, at any rate they 
intended to be comfortable during their visit to 
town. Ralph spoke as if they were fixtures at 
this private hotel, in which they evidently oc- 
cupied the best rooms, and it appeared, by what 
he said, that they were to stay there some time. 

“ I hope you enjoyed yourself at the Zoo the 
other day,” said the young man, in a pause of 
the conversation. “You cannot think how your 
presence added to my enjoyment. I was getting 
bored with the beasts till I fell in with your party. 
— You know, country cousins always feel bound 


A COUNTRY COUSIN. 


S3 


to go to the Zoo amongst the first sights. I 
practically joined you then ; it was so pleasant 
to hear everything explained without the trouble 
of thinking ! ” 

“ I did not see you/* said Dorothy. 

“ You were otherwise occupied, you see ; and I 
was discreet in my admiration.” 

“ I think you were very rude, following us about 
as you say you did.” 

“Natural affinity asserting itself unconsciously,” 
was the cool reply. “ Blood, you know, is proverbi- 
ally thicker than water.” 

“ I thought you were an invalid ! * 

“A little mild exercise on a warm day is not 
forbidden even to me. You need not look so 
severe ; I assure you, I am quite harmless. Ah ! 
and there is my mother’s step; I told you she 
would not be long — Mother, here is my cousin 
Miss Dorothy Templeton come to call upon you. 
We have been vowing an eternal friendship.” 



0 



CHAPTER III. 


MRS. SEYMOUR. 



'OROTHY fell in love with Mrs. Seymour 
ltf)| at the first glance, as many less impulsive 
persons had done before her. She was 
a peculiarly sweet-looking old lady, who 
appeared older than her sixty years from 
the snowy whiteness of her abundant hair, and the 
perfect calm and peacefulness of the expression of 
her gentle face. She was in indoor dress when she 
entered the room — a plainly made, but rich black 
satin, with fine old lace upon her head, and round 
her neck and wrists. All was perfectly simple and 
in exquisite taste. Dorothy thought she had never 
seen a more striking or picturesque figure anywhere, 
and each movement and tone of the voice height- 
ened the effect of the impression produced. 

“ My dear, this is very good of you. You do not 
34 


MRS. SEYMOUR. 


35 


know what a pleasure it is to look upon the face of 
one of your mother’s children. She was a dear, 
dear friend of mine when we were both young 
together, though I was many years her senior. Do 
you know how very like her you are ? And you 
have her name, too. My boy recognised you the 
other day at the Zoological Gardens from your 
likeness to a picture in my possession. He came 
and told me he was certain he had seen a Miss 
Templeton, and that prompted me to write to your 
father, for I really did not know before that he 
still lived in town. I am so glad to see you, my 
love. We are not very nearly related, but our 
family has so few branches still living that we must 
make the most of such kinsfolk as we have ; * and 
she kissed Dorothy, and drew her gently to a seat 
beside her on the sofa. Ralph meantime had 
leisurely withdrawn; and when relieved from the 
consciousness of the keen scrutiny of those sleepy 
grey eyes, Dorothy was able to talk with greater 
ease, and to get through her task as ambassador 
without the same difficulty as she would have ex- 
perienced in his presence. She explained how busy, 
and how constantly out her father and sisters were 
at this time of year, and Mrs. Seymour met her 


36 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


more than half-way, saying in her gentle graceful 
way that of course she could well understand it all ; 
she never expected to see much of town friends 
during the busy months of the season ; but that if 
Dorothy could spare time to come and see her 
sometimes, and go about with her a little, it would 
be a very great pleasure. To which advance 
Dorothy gladly and eagerly responded, for she was 
practically mistress of her own time, and was de- 
lighted to think of paying attentions to these 
slighted kinsfolk, and improving acquaintance with 
this sweet-faced old gentlewoman. She hoped Mrs. 
Seymour did not too clearly grasp the situation ; at 
least, if she did so, she did not let it appear. As 
a matter of fact, she had a vivid recollection of Mr. 
Templeton’s character and disposition, and was 
able to hazard a shrewd guess as to how matters 
really stood. 

However, she did not let Dorothy see this, but 
encouraged her to talk of herself and her home and 
the children who were so much to her, and de- 
lighted the warm-hearted girl by suggesting that 
she should bring them all to tea there some day soon. 

“ Oh, how kind of you ! They will so like it ; 
and they have so few treats, poor little dears.” 


MRS. SEYMOUR. 


37 


** We must try and give them some amongst us. 
Ralph will be delighted ; he is so fond of children.” 
“Is he?” 

“Yes ; why should he not be ? ” asked the 
mother with a little smile. 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; only young men generally 
think them a bore ; and I thought he seemed 
rather lazy and sarcastic.” 

Mrs. Seymour smiled — a sort of proud, fond, 
happy smile, that spoke volumes in itself. 

“ Ralph does not quite do himself justice, but 
you will understand him better in time. He has 
no choice but to be lazy just now, poor boy.” 

“ Is he ill, then ? — I thought he was only 
shamming.” 

“ That ’s what most people think, and what he 
likes them to think ; that ’s why he puts on those 
injured airs to help the delusion. He is much 
better now, but still under doctor’s rules. I made 
him come to town on purpose to consult a specialist 
about him. His orders are to take things very 
quietly for two or three months to come. That is 
why I mean to stay here. I can keep Ralph idle 
in town ; but in the country it is almost impossible. 
Since his father’s death he has had everything on 


DOROTHY S VOCATION. 


>8 

his hands, and it seems impossible for him to be 
quiet.” 

Dorothy did not know that Mr. Seymour was 
dead, and was glad to be enlightened. She had 
fancied that perhaps it was so ; for Mrs. Seymours 
dress, though not partaking of the character of 
weeds, had something in it suggestive of widowhood. 
To cover her momentary confusion she asked what 
was the matter with Ralph. 

“ Well, my dear, I always like telling the tale, 
because I am so proud of my boy, and because I 
think it was so characteristic of him, though he 
cant bear people to know, and turns it all into 
nonsense if he can. However, you shall hear it at 
least, in the right of your cousin ship, and I will 
tell it now ; for if he comes back, you may be sure 
you will never hear the rights of the case. It was 
last Christmas — I shall never forget that awful 
night.” 

She paused, and Dorothy looked eagerly at her ; 
she always liked to hear a story. 

“ Yes, my dear, it was last Christmas, and we 
were not spending it at home, but with some friends 
in the next county. Well, there had been a party 
on Christmas-Eve — a young people’s party, and the 


MItS. SEYMOUR. 


39 


house was full of children — at least, the nursery 
wing was, and we were a large party altogether. 
In the dead of night an alarm of fire was raised. 
Ralph came to my room, and hurried me half- 
dressed down the stairs and out into the frosty 
night. He took care that I was warmly wrapped, 
however — he never loses his presence of mind — and 
I took no harm. But what a scene it was ! all the 
fine old house in flames ! And I was in terrible 
anxiety about Ralph, for I had an instinct that 
wherever the danger was greatest, he would cer- 
tainly be in the thick of it. It was a fearful mo- 
ment, making out in all the confusion whether all 
the people were safe, and it was still more terrible 
when a cry was raised that some children were 
still in the burning house, cut off past hope of 
rescue in the wing where the fire was raging most 
fiercely. We all rushed round to the extreme end 
of the west wing, and there, huddled up in the 
great staircase window, were five poor little mites, 
left behind in some inexplicable way in the hurried 
flight of nurses and children, everybody thinking in 
the wild confusion of the moment that somebody 
else had visited these particular rooms. The stairs 
were burnt through by this time ; no ladders long 


40 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


enough could be found, and the children were too 
young and too terrified to attempt to open the 
window and jump down to us, as we frantically 
shouted to them to do. Their mother was by my 
side in the crowd below. I shall never forget her 
face of agony as she stood gazing up at the blazing 
pile. ,, 

Mrs. Seymour paused, but Dorothy did not 
speak ; she felt as if she knew what was 
coming. 

“ Just then there was an excited shout, a sort 
of wild, breathless cheer. People were pointing 
and gesticulating, and soon we all saw why. There 
was a huge oak-tree growing near to this part of 
the house, and along one of its giant limbs a dark 
figure was crawling. We watched in breathless 
silence, for the feat about to be attempted was 
sufficiently perilous. The branch swayed and 
creaked, and the spring from it to an open win- 
dow many yards away could only be performed by 
a trained athlete. It was successfully accomplished, 
however. The figure sprang, caught the projecting 
sill with both hands, and after swinging in mid-air 
a moment in most perilous fashion, climbed into 
the burning house and vanished. The next mo- 


MRS. SEYMOUR. 


41 


ment the big end window was flung open, and we 
saw that Ralph was with the children. It was my 
boy who had risked his life to save them. He had 
a strong rope wound about him, and with it he let 
down the children one by one ; but the fire was 
increasing so rapidly that he had not time to make 
good his own escape in that way. He had to dart 
back to the room from which he came and spring 
again into the tree. As it was, his clothes were all 
singed, and one arm and hand were slightly burned; 
but we did not know then, nor till long afterwards, 
that he had hurt himself any other way.” 

“ And had he ? ” 

“ Yes ; either in getting up or down, or perhaps 
in both, he had given himself a sprain ; but he 
did not know it himself, and worked like a horse, 
getting things out of the other part of the house, 
giving orders, carrying weights, and not thinking 
one bit about himself. He wanted to keep out of 
the way of all the praise and admiration that was 
being lavished upon him, and I could hardly get 
him to let the mother thank him, though he con- 
sented to do so when I told him she would be 
miserable if he would not. We went home next 
day, but it was weeks before I found out there 


4>2 


DOROTHY'S VOCATION. 


was anything wrong with Ralph, and then he 
only laughed at me and said strains were nothing, 
and that it would go off. It did not go off, how- 
ever, until a sharp attack of inflammation warned 
him that he should not go on trifling too long ; 
and since then he has been obliged to submil 
more or less to doctor’s orders and take things 
very quietly. Dr. William Gresham says he will 
do very well if he will be careful of himself for the 
next three months ; but he is not to ride, 01 
row, or play ball, or even to walk very much 
and that is why I want to keep him in towi 
where the inducements to do so are so mu'A 
less. Some young men would be as cross as the 
proverbial bear with a sore head at being kept 
in leading-strings like this ; but that isn’t Ralph’s 
way. He makes a sort of joke of it, and does 
as his mother tells him, just as he used when 
he was a tiny little fellow. I suppose every 
mother has her weakness where her children are 
concerned. I know my weakness is to think 
there is nobody in the world like my boy 
Ralph.” 

Dorothy thought there was something very 
pretty in this admission, and in the shining eyes 


MRS. SEYMOUR. 


4 


of the old lady as she told her tale. It might 
be rather unsophisticated to show this feeling so 
openly, but at least it was very natural and 
pleasing, and the girl was not disposed to criticise. 
If she thought well of Ralph from what she had 
heard of him, she was not going to let it appear 
in her intercourse with him. 

He came back presently in the wake of the 
equipage for afternoon tea, and, taking possession 
of the tray, he began warming the cups and 
“ fiddle-faddling ” over the preparations with a 
deliberation and nicety that would have done 
credit to a complete old maid. 

“ I can’t trust this kind of thing to my mother, 
you see, Dorothy,” he said, looking across at the 
pair upon the sofa. — “It’s all right, mother, I’m 
not taking a liberty ; she told me herself she 
was to be * only Dorothy.’ — Women are always 
in a hurry over things, or else they get absorbed 
in conversation and get all abroad with the milk 
and sugar. We ’re old-fashioned people and like 
sweet tea. You, I suppose, follow the new-fangled 
way, and take none ? Ah ! I thought as much. 
I have a remarkable gift of insight. Mv mothei 
will tell you, if you don’t believe me, that m)/ 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


intuitive perception of character is almost pre- 
ternaturally acute. It’s almost a misfortune, I 
think, to be so shrewd. One loses the pleasure 
of being taken by surprise, or of watching un- 
expected developments. It ’s a great gift — the 
power of analysis of character ; you look sceptical, 
Dorothy, but I assure you it is, and you ought 
to know it. Some day I mean to write a pam- 
phlet on the subject of — ‘ Tea : With Sugar, and 
Without.’ I always did yearn to see myself in 
print. Only if once I were to write a book 
and publish it, I should spend the remainder of 
my natural life in reading it. I should not want 
to open another.” 

“ My dear boy,” remonstrated his mother gently, 
“ what will Dorothy think of you ? ” 

“ Dorothy’s measure of me is already taken, 
mother ; I see it in her eyes. Some people, 
you know, have, like myself, a gift of reading 
characters by intuition. It is useless for me to 
try and deceive her ; she knows too well what 
I am.” 

“ And what is that ? 99 asked Dorothy, with 
spirit. “ Pray let us have the definition.” 

“ I leave that in your hands,” he answered as 


MRS. SEYMOUR. 


45 


he handed the bread and butter. “ Doubtless 
you know best.” 

Dorothy laughed mischievously. 

“ You seem to think I take a great interest 
in you, I must say,” she remarked. “ At present, 
on so slight an acquaintance, you only seem like 
an idle young man, very fond, like most of your 
race, of talking about yourself.” 

A smile of vivid amusement flickered in Ralph’s 
eyes. He bowed gravely. 

“ Admirably summed up. You could not have 
put it more clearly or tersely. You understand 
now why I long to spend my days in reading the 
products of my own marvellous genius.” 

Dorothy did not stay long after this; but she 
made many willing promises of future visits, and 
went home with the pleasant sense of having made 
a friend whose friendship would be well worth 
having. She had taking a great liking for Mrs. 
Seymour — which liking, she was sure, was recipro- 
cal; and Ralph amused, if he disconcerted her a 
little. She was rather pleased, too, to have some 
friends somewhat exclusively her own, for she had 
discovered, as many younger sisters do, that friend- 
ships shared with theii seniors are apt to turn 


46 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


out ‘ unsatisfactory. These people might be 
country cousins, and poor relations, according to her 
father’s standard (Dorothy was not worldly-wise or 
experienced enough to know in what such a defini- 
tion consisted) ; but, at least, they were pleasant 
and refined and educated, and that was all she cared 
about. 

A few careless questions were asked at dinner- 
time with reference to the Seymours, but Dorothy 
had not much to say. Mrs. Seymour was “ very 
nice,” she affirmed, and quite understood about their 
being busy. She had hoped the children might 
come and see her, and Claudia felt that such a wish 
quite “ stamped ” her, though, of course, she could 
have no objection to the arrangement. An old lady 
willing to be put off with Dorothy and the children, 
must be a typical country cousin, and might safely 
be left to their society. The fact that the husband 
was dead, and that there was only one son, “ a rustic 
lout, she supposed,” was a distinct relief to Mr. 
Templeton. He could now wash his hands of the 
family very comfortably. He would just see his 
cousin once before she left ; but as she had not a 
large needy family to bring up, there could be no 
reason for bestirring himself on her account. 


MBS. SEYMOUR. 


47 


She could be very safely left in Dorothy’s 
hands. 

Dorothy smiled a little to herself as she con- 
trasted her father’s mental picture of the “ rustic 
lout” with her own remembrance of Ralph’s tall, 
well-made figure, by no means lacking in grace, his 
easy movements, refined intonation, and decidedly 
handsome face. However, it was not for her to 
sing this young man’s praises, nor would anything 
she could say shake the preconceived ideas of her 
companions. 

“ Dorothy does not understand such things ” was 
a regular family dictum. Sometimes in hearing it 
said of her, Dorothy was wont to declare at the 
bottom of her independent little heart that she was 
very glad she didn’t understand “that kind o f 
thing.” 




CHAPTER IV. 



AN ENIGMA. 

OROTHY found, as time slipped by, that 
life had become somewhat different for 
her since the advent of these country 
cousins, as her sisters still persisted in call- 
ing them. They had been out when Mrs. 
Seymour had called at the house, they had taken 
care to return her call when they knew that she 
was abroad with Dorothy, and on the one occasion 
they had asked her to the house she had been 
engaged and unable to come. 

The Miss Templetons, feeling they had now done 
all that propriety demanded, as far as their poor 
relation was concerned, proceeded to dismiss her 
from their minds, and leave her to Dorothy’s tender 
mercies. The very fact that their younger sister 

had taken so great a liking to this kinswoman of 
48 


AN ENIGMA. 


4f) 


theirs, seemed proof positive that she was not “ theiv 
style.” They and Dorothy never liked the same 
people, and it was hardly probable that they would 
begin to do so now. 

Dorothy, for her part, saw Mrs. Seymour almost 
every day, and each day increased the warm liking 
that had sprung up from the first between them. 
The old lady was not very familiar with town life 
and its ways, and the noise and bustle of the streets 
were somewhat bewildering to her. She had, of 
course, a good deal of shopping to do — what 
country matron has not who comes up to town only 
on rare occasions ? — and so far very little of it had 
been accomplished. 

“I do not like shopping alone, my dear,” she 
had said, “ at least not here ; and though Ralph is 
always at my beck and call, ready to declare shop- 
ping the aim and object of his life, I cannot bring 
my mind to inflict it upon him. It is bad enough 
for him to be debarred from so much he would like 
to be doing, without being called upon to sacrifice 
himself further.” 

“ He always seems very content, I think,” 
answered Dorothy, laughing. “Idleness seems to 
suit him very well.” 

D 


50 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Ralph has a wonderful disposition, my dear," 
said the fond mother. “ Though, I suppose, it is 
not for me to say it, I have never known him out 
of temper in my life.” 

“ Isn’t that rather monotonous sometimes ? ” 
asked Dorothy, with a gleam of mischief in hei 
merry eyes, for she had long ago discovered the 
special weakness of her cousin, and delighted to 
tease her sometimes about her only son ; and Mrs. 
Seymour, who half suspected as much, smiled herself 
as she answered — 

“Well, my dear, perhaps it is because I am a 
dull old woman myself, but, somehow, I never find 
Ralph monotonous.” 

Dorothy began to find that she did not either. 
He was their companion on a great many of their 
expeditions, and never missed attending them when 
their destination was a concert or a picture gallery. 
The girl had an enthusiasm for art, and could spend 
hours amid good pictures without weariness, but 
she had never before known what it was to find 
herself with companions who shared her predilec- 
tions. Her sisters always hurried her through a 
gallery with impatient haste, and unless she had 
been alone she had never before been able to enjoy 


AN ENIGMA. 


61 


pictures. Now she discovered what it was like 
to look at, and discuss them, with a keen and com- 
petent critic. It very soon became clear that 
Mrs. Seymour and her son were very cultured 
people. It was not mere art-jargon that they 
talked, picked up at second-hand from reviews, or 
from overheard conversations. They observed and 
judged for themselves ; plainly they had travelled, 
and had visited all the finest picture galleries in 
Europe. Mrs. Seymour often wearied before the 
young people had drunk their fill, and then she 
would sit down in some quiet nook, leaving Ralph 
and Dorothy to wander about at will ; and his 
keen criticisms, together with the vein of covert 
satire that gave piquancy to his idlest words, 
amused and interested Dorothy as much as it had 
at first surprised her. 

She had, however, by degrees, quite lost the 
first impression that these kinsfolk were either poor 
relations or rustically uncultured. It was obvious 
that there was no lack of means with them, and 
still less was there any lack of refinement or savoir 
faire. Dorothy sometimes found herself wonder- 
ing if they were not in some respects a cut above 
the people with whom she had been in the habit of 


52 dohothy’s vocation. 

associating ; at least, they were far more to her 
taste. But she was too young as yet to have 
learned any very definite standard by which to 
judge men and things, and she had not got beyond 
the stage of knowing whom she liked without 
being able to define why it was she liked them. 

One thing, at least, that attracted her greatly 
was the loving bond of union which existed between 
mother and son. Family affection was not highly 
developed in the Templeton family — at least, 
amongst its senior members. The father and elder 
daughters were bound together by ties of mutual 
interest and community of taste ; but there was no 
display of attachment on either side, whilst Dorothy 
was herself conscious of a distinct sense of 
antagonism towards all her relatives except the 
children. The deep and tender love between 
Ralph and his mother was a positive revelation to 
her, none the less so that it was veiled on his side 
beneath a playfully teasing manner that appeared 
one of his most marked characteristics. 

Another thing that struck Dorothy quite as 
much, was the more serious view of life and its 
responsibilities taken by these kinsfolk of hers than 
by the people with whom she had been hitherto 


AN ENIGMA. 


53 


surrounded — views very much more in harmony 
with her own. Several times, when she and 
Mrs. Seymour were out shopping together without 
Ralph’s somewhat doubtful assistance, the mother 
would explain to Dorothy what had called him 
away. Perhaps he had gone to look over some 
new model dwelling-houses, to inquire into the 
latest sanitary arrangements, and get hints as to 
the best method of housing the poor ; or perhaps 
he was visiting some institution for the blind, in 
order to gain an insight into the method of teaching 
them, and see w^hat industries were best suited to 
their capacities. Sometimes a hospital or con- 
valescent home was his destination, occasionally 
even a prison or reformatory. 

“ You see, Ralph feels a good deal of responsi- 
bility now that he has come of age. His father 
arranged that he should not come into the full 
possession of things till he was five-and-twenty, 
which was wise, as it would have harassed his 
college life to have had so much depending upon 
him,” explained Mrs. Seymour one day. “ There 
is so much to think of, and a good deal to be done 
— I suppose it always is so after a long minority — 
and Ralph cannot bear doing things by halves or 


54 


DOROTHY S VOCATION 


by proxy either. He must understand it all him- 
self. That is one reason he is so willing to stay 
here a few months ; he feels that the city is, after 
all, the best centre for learning everything; and 
although things are different in the country, still, 
one can learn a great deal here. It is a great trust 
for a young man. I only hope that my dear boy 
may be able to carry it out as it should be done 
— as his dear father would have done had he 
lived.” 

It may appear as if Dorothy was very stupid to 
misunderstand the drift of this observation, but mis- 
understand it she certainly did. She was not 
worldly-wise, and she had heard so definitely that 
the Seymours were quite poor and insignificant that 
she did not for a moment believe that he could be 
the owner of any property. She had heard of the 
agents appointed by gentlemen landowners to 
superintend their estates, and she jumped at once 
to the conclusion that Mr. Seymour had been an 
agent for some rich man or gentleman, and that 
his son had been lately appointed to succeed him. 
That explained a good deal, she thought ; and, to 
make assurance doubly sure, she asked if Ralph 
had some property to manage. 


AN ENIGMA. 


55 


“ Yes, my love, a rather fine property ; and it is 
a great responsibility for so young a man ; but I 
trust he may be enabled to do his duty by all. 
He does his best, I am sure. He looks upon it as 
I do, as a very sacred trust, though he would not 
tell you so. He is very reserved about his deeper 
feelings.” 

Dorothy understood everything now, she thought, 
even to the comfortable income evidently enjoyed 
by mother and son. Ralph’s occasional expeditions 
down to the country “ to look after things ” were 
fully explained, as were other allusions to cottage- 
building and improvement of land that had some- 
times puzzled her before, when she had been listen- 
ing to conversations between mother and son. 

When Ralph incidentally learned that she had a 
“ district ” of her own amongst the poor of the 
parish, he teased her unmercifully for about ten 
minutes, and ended by asking her quite seriously 
if she would let him make the round of it with 
her one day. Dorothy looked at Mrs. Seymour 
in perplexity, but received only a placid smile 
in reply. 

“ He is not making fun of you, my dear, though 
I do not wonder at your thinking it, for he is a sad 


56 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


boy in his love of teasing ; but he really does want 
to find out all he can with regard to the state of the 
poor, and I am sure he would like to visit your 
people very much.” 

Dorothy was neither ceremonious nor self- 
conscious, and made no objection to this plan, 
which was carried out in due course a few days 
later. Ralph surprised her by coming out altogether 
in a new light ; he laid aside his lazy, languid air 
of raillery, and talked to the poor with a quiet 
courtesy and appreciation of their difficulties that 
astonished Dorothy not a little. He had wise 
practical suggestions to offer in one or two cases, 
and made one woman eternally grateful by promis- 
ing to arrange for the transporting of a sickly lad 
(who had been obliged to give up his place behind 
the counter of a grocer’s shop) into the country, 
where he could learn gardening, for which he had 
a passion, under a capable man ; and if his health 
should be re-established by country air, as was 
most probable, he would in all likelihood make his 
way with ease in life. 

Dorothy was, of course, delighted, and very 
grateful, but she only got teasing answers to her 
thanks and raptures. She was well used to Ralph 


AN ENIGMA. 


67 


by this time, and could give as good as she got in 
wordy battles with him ; but she never quite 
succeeded in making him out, or in “ piecing him 
together,” as she called it. It was difficult to 
realise that this lazy, long-limbed youth, lolling on 
the sofa and teasing his mother, or poking fun at 
her in his sleepy nonchalant fashion, could be the 
same active, heroic man who had deliberately haz- 
arded his own life only a few months ago to save 
some little children from a fearful death. (That 
story had not made much impression on Dorothy 
at the time, but it haunted her afterwards, and 
especially so in company with Ralph.) Neither 
could she quite realise him as a man with earnest 
purposes at work within him, or with a capacity for 
self-denial and hard work. Altogether he was 
decidedly an enigma to her, and though she was 
not always certain that she quite liked him, at least 
she found him interesting ; and as he had persisted 
in assuming the easy cousinly relations with her 
that their kinship certainly did not warrant, she 
let him have his own way : as, indeed, was almost 
a necessity, for Master Ralph had had a trick of 
getting that from his cradle upwards ; and his 
invisible strength of will and cool, silent insistence 


58 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


generally won him the day whenever he chose to 
exert it. 

What pleased and surprised Dorothy as much as 
anything else about these relations of hers was the 
quiet, “ old fashioned ” way they kept their Sun- 
days — a way much more in keeping with the girl’s 
own views than anything she had been accustomed 
to see. Her sisters used the day as a sort of 
breathing-space after the labours of one week, and 
before the fatigues of a second. Sometimes they 
went over to church, and generally they went out 
in the evening to some reunion of friends that 
Dorothy called a “ party ” though they said it was 
“ no such thing.” 

Dorothy never went anywhere herself on that 
day. She attended church regularly with the 
children, and spent most of her time with them, 
trying, not unsuccessfully, to make them love the 
day, which, but for her, would have been sadly dull 
and colourless, as it unfortunately is in the lives of 
many children, especially in towns. 

She found out with satisfaction that her new 
friends entirely shared her “ old fashioned ” views 
on these points. Her sisters laughed scornfully at 
their declining an invitation to dinner there on 


AN ENIGMA. 


59 


a Sunday evening on account of the day, but 
expressed themselves much relieved at such a 
decision. 

“ Evidently they are not in the least our style,” 
cried Mabel. “ I do hate cut-and-dried old fogies 
of their sort ; they are a perfect enigma to me.” 




CHAPTER Y. 


THE CHILDRENS FAVOURITE. 

EALLY, Dolly?” 

JWl\W “ Yes, really, Winnie. Don't you want 


to go?” 

“ Oh, yes, I think so ; but I don’t 
think we ’ve ever been out to tea with grown-up 
people before. May I sit next you, please ? ” 

“ Me too,” said solemn Bernie, edging up close 
to his sister. “ Me sit next ’oo too.” 

“ We ’ll see all about that when we get there,” 
was the smiling answer. “ Bertie, you ’re not shy, 
are you ? ” 

“N-no,” answered the eldest of the quartette, 
somewhat dubiously; and Wilfred boldly asserted 
that he wasn’t ; yet it was plain that the idea of 
going out to tea with an old lady “ older than 

papa,” and a grown-up gentleman, was a little 
60 







* 
































THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE. 


63 


appalling to them all, and the fact that these new 
people were cousins did not seem to them to make 
matters any better. 

“ I don’t call grown-up people cousins,” asserted 
Wilfred. “The Fosters have got cousins, and 
they ’re just about the same age as them and as us. 
I don’t think cousins count if they ’re old and big.” 

“Veil, you tell them all that when you get 
there,” answered Dorothy laughing ; “ and now, run 
away to nurse and get your best clothes on, for it is 
almost time we started.” 

Dorothy was not unjustly proud of her little 
charges as she ushered them upstairs into the now 
familiar drawing-room of the private hotel inhabited 
by the Seymours. They were pretty, gentle- 
mannered children ; and, thanks to her efforts and 
those of their nurse, they were prettily and becom- 
ingly dressed — the boys in picturesque knicker- 
bocker suits, little Winnie in white with a crimson 
sash. Mrs. Seymour’s reception of the children was 
so gentle and motherly that it went far to reassure 
their childish minds and banish trepidation ; whilst 
Ralph, watching the scene with his sleepy, humor- 
ous smile, looked to Dorothy as if he were in one 
of his mischievous moods. 


64 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


He verified the surmise on this head by promptly 
seizing upon the indignant and half-frightened 
Bemie, and carrying him off captive to a distant 
sofa, whence a great sound of scrimmaging promptly 
arose ; and gradually the other two boys gravitated 
towards that end of the room, where a regular game 
seemed soon to be set on foot. 

Dorothy had looked rather doubtful at seeing the 
shy, solemn Bemie carried off so unceremoniously 
from under the shelter of her wing; but Mrs. 
Seymour read the look, and answered it by a 
reassuring smile. 

“ He will be quite safe with Ralph ; children 
always take to him at once.” 

Such, in fact, seemed to be the case, and even 
Winnie slipped down presently from Mrs. Seymour’s 
knee, and trotted off to join the game at the 
other end of the room. The game seemed some- 
what nondescript in character, though of a very 
entrancing kind. It consisted mainly in making 
this tall new cousin lie down on the sofa and feign 
sleep, whilst all kinds of liberties were taken with 
him in his somnolent state. When his youthful 
tormentors became too daring or aggressive, a sudden 
awakening would be the result, and the sleeping 


THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE. 


65 


giant would make a rapid snatch at one of them 
and chase them as far as the window curtains, 
behind which was “home.” If he failed to catch 
one he retreated, growling, amid peals of delighted 
laughter ; if he succeeded, his captive was perched 
upon the arm of the sofa and instructed to “ keep 
the flies off” whilst he slept again; and as soon as 
the enemy slumbered, an escape was promptly 
effected. This game, which was quite new and 
altogether entrancing, kept the children in a state 
of eager excitement and delight till the time when 
tea was announced as ready downstairs. Ralph 
proceeded to seat his last captive, Bernie, on his 
shoulder and march off with him in triumph, 
Winnie clinging delightedly to his disengaged hand, 
and Bertie and Wilfred following closely in his 
wake. 

“ He is such a capital hand with children ! ” 
explained Mrs. Seymour, as she brought up the 
rear with Dorothy. “Nobody in our parts dreams 
of giving a children’s party unless Ralph has been 
secured beforehand.” 

Dorothy was used to the fond mother’s gentle 
eulogies, and rather enjoyed them. In this case 
they seemed justified by facts, and the girl was 


66 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


pleased, for her little charges came out in their 
very best light beneath the influence of Ralph’s 
presence — their shyness all melting away as if it 
had never existed, whilst they never became in the 
least uproarious, their enjoyment being evinced in 
a very thorough yet gentle and childish fashion. 

“ Please, may we come again ? ” asked Winnie, 
as she received Mrs. Seymour’s good-bye kiss ; and 
there was quite a little buzz of excitement as the 
answer was readily given — 

“ Indeed you may, dear children. You shall 
come your very next half-holiday afternoon, if sister 
Dorothy will bring you.” 

They seemed hardly to think it worth while to 
ask that — Dolly’s good-will was taken for granted ; 
but there was an eager turning towards Ralph. 

“ Will you be here ? Will yom play at giants 
again ? Say yes ! ” 

“ You ’ll see whether I will or not when you 
come ; if you don’t take care, I ’ll have a great green 
dragon to guard my castle. You ’re not half as 
much afraid of a giant as you ought to be.” 

The children ran away with little shrieks of 
half-terrified, half- delighted laughter as Ralph 
pursued them to the door with threats of the green 


THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE. 


67 


dragon; and all the week the talk was of him, 
mixed with wondering speculations as to if he really 
would have a dragon, and appeals to Dorothy as to 
whether there were any dragons now. 

But when on the following Wednesday afternoon 
they were again ushered into the room where such 
a pleasant visit had been paid the previous week, 
what should they see but the giant lying fast asleep 
upon the sofa, with a great green dragon encircling 
his long limbs in its gleaming folds, with its terrible 
head and great red tongue actually lying on his 
breast. 

Awe-struck and breathless, the children stared at 
him, clinging closely together as they advanced on 
tip-toe to inspect this shiny green monster, whose 
presence was but half expected by them. 

“They won’t be frightened, I hope, my dear,” 
said Mrs. Seymour in a low tone to Dorothy. 
“ Ralph got the horrid thing made at a shop in 
Regent Street, and though it is only cardboard, and 
won’t stand much handling, it looks horribly life- 
like. It ’s got a rattle in its tail, and its eyes can 
open and roll. He nearly frightened me with it in 
the dark yesterday : but he will have his own way.” 

“ I think children love being frightened up to a 


68 


dokothy’s vocation. 


certain point,” answered Dorothy, captivated herself 
somewhat by the size and appearance of the green 
dragon ; and it seemed as if her words were verified 
by the event, for the children were even more 
enthralled by the charms of the game after the 
addition of the dragon than they had been before, 
especially as he hampered his master’s movements a 
good deal, and gave them a better chance of escape, 
and warned them by the rattle of his tail or the 
rolling of his eyes when he was awake and about to 
rouse the giant. 

“ It is very good of you, Ralph, to give up so 
much time to playing with the children,” Dorothy 
said, as they took their departure; to which he 
responded with a look she very well knew. 

“ Is it, indeed ? I’m so glad ! I like above all 
things to be admired and thought self-sacrificing, 
and particularly so when I am indulging puerile 
tastes of which I am secretly rather ashamed. When 
do we really grow out of babyhood ? I believe my 
mother would delight to dress and undress a doll 
now, if she wasn’t ashamed of the weakness. I often 
see grandmothers much more interested in the pro- 
cess than the grandchildren they are instructing.” 

Dorothy laughed lightly. 


THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE, 


69 


“Then the green dragon is your pet toy, bought 
for your own edification ? ” 

“ Exactly ; he sleeps at the foot of my bed, and 
would be put under my pillow if he would go. It ’s 
so nice to have a good excuse for one’s own juvenil- 
ity when one is ashamed of it.” 

The next event of this somewhat eventful June 
was a request from Mrs. Seymour that Dorothy 
would be her companion in some social gaieties to 
which she and her son had been invited. 

“You see, my dear, our friends have found us 
out, and although we intended to keep quite quiet, 
it seems impossible to grieve people by declining 
everything. Ralph is not very strong yet, but he 
cannot be called an invalid in any ordinary sense of 
the word, and he won’t have invitations declined on 
the score of his health. He says it would sound 
like humbug; and so perhaps it would. We must 
go to some few places, and it would be such a 
comfort to me to have you there. I think an old 
woman is out of place in gay scenes without a 
young girl to take care of. Will you ask your 
father to spare you as much as he can ? He will 
know that I shall ask you into no society to which 
any exception could be taken.” 


70 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Dorothy smiled at such an idea ; she had already 
begun to perceive that the Seymours were a great 
deal more fastidious about their friends than her 
own people could boast of being. To the latter, 
wealth was a sure passport, whatever the ante- 
cedents had been; but the country cousins took 
that into small account — they judged by a 
different standard. 

“ Go ! of course you can go,” said Claudia, with 
a smile of covert scorn upon her lips as Dorothy 
propounded her question at dessert that night. It 
was the father who had been appealed to, but 
Claudia always reserved the right of answering such 
questions for him. She was not a little pleased at 
any scheme which should take Dorothy, so to 
speak, off their hands. Both she and Mabel were 
of opinion that three sisters were a nuisance any- 
where, especially as they had no brother to weigh 
in the opposite scale, and their father was no longer 
a young man. Now that Dorothy was “ out,” she 
could not always be left at home ; and yet neither 
of the elder sisters would be content to be left 
out. It was a happy chance that took the girl to 
pastures new — at least, for this season. 

And if she does get .stamped by association 


THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE. 


71 


with people a cut below our set, I don’t see that it 
will matter much,” said Mabel in private to her 
sister. “ It will be all the easier to get rid of her 
somehow. If she gets unfit for society, she must 
find some vocation in earnest, and stick to it.” 

“ Just so ; and the more she mixes with these 
eccentric, enthusiastic sort of people, the more 
willing she will be, in all likelihood, to do so. This 
son of Mrs. Seymour’s seems an extraordinary kind 
of young man, poking his nose into prisons and refor- 
matories, and disgusting places of that kind. He 
had better end by marrying Dorothy, as they seem 
so suited to one another. Certainly we will throw 
no hindrance in the way of their acquaintance.” 

“ Certainly not,” assented the other. 

So Dorothy found herself free to make her own 
plans, and live her own life, in perfect independence 
of her nearest relatives ; and to accompany Mrs. 
Seymour whenever she was asked to do so, which 
was increasingly often as time slipped by. 

The first thing the girl noticed was the very 
refined and cultivated tone of the people with 
whom she was now brought into contact — thinking 
men and women, who had a reputation, in many 
cases, for literary eminenbe or scientific research 


72 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


and as Dorothy had a real thirst for learning, and 
had read widely and intelligently, she was delighted 
to find herself amongst people who talked of other 
things than the passing fashions of the hour or the 
shallow society gossip that always bored and irri- 
tated her. She made a quiet little success of her 
own, though of this she was quite unaware ; and 
her name began to appear on the cards of invitation 
addressed to Mrs. Seymour, almost as if she 
belonged to that lady by right. 

Although Mr. Templeton’s elder daughters did not 
know how favourable an impression Dorothy was 
producing wherever she appeared, they learned 
enough to raise within them a certain amount of 
jealous discontent. They thought their younger 
sister inclined to be pushing and forward, and would 
have been glad, had such a thing been possible, to 
get her safely out of the way. 

This feeling caused them to contemplate with a 
certain amount of tolerant satisfaction a confidence 
made to them about this time by their father. He 
came to them in the drawing-room one day, looking 
somewhat disturbed and perplexed ; and in answer 
to a question from his eldest daughter admitted 
that something had occurred to surprise him. 


THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE. 


73 


“ It ’s about Dorothy,” he said, finding that she 
was not present ; “ I suppose you might as well be 
told. You know Sopely, the old man who has 
made such a colossal fortune in tallow, or cheese, or 
something like that ? — well, he came to me just 
now in my study to propose a match between 
Dorothy and his son, who, it seems, has been 
immensely taken with her. Do you know the 
cub?” 

“We ’ve met him sometimes,” answered Mabel. 
“ He ’s not half as vulgar as the parents. He ’s 
been to Yale or Cambridge, and got a sort of 
polish. I thought he followed Dorothy about 
rather persistently once or twice. I daresay she 
may like him — Dorothy is not particular. She 
may have encouraged him, very likely.” 

“ The young man is very much in earnest, it 
seems, though apparently he has not ventured to 
approach the subject himself. His father has come 
to me about it. He is prepared to make the most 
handsome settlements, and all that. Money seems 
no object whatever, if only the young man can get 
what he wants. It’s not a connection I should 
care about, in many ways. What do you say 
to it, Claudia ? ” 


74 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Claudia was silent, turning matters over in her 
■>\vn mind quietly. 

“ It is difficult to pronounce an opinion straight 
off; but, of course, there are advantages in any 
match where there is so much money. Dorothy 
might do worse. I always have a feeling that she 
will marry beneath her if she marries at all ; and 
in that case she had better make the mesalliance 
with money than without.” 

“ Does she care about the young fellow ? ” 

“ I have no idea. She never mentions his 
iame; but, of course, she hardly would do, if she 
bought he was paying her attention.” 

“ But what am I to say to the father? ” 

“What does he want you to say?” 

“ He wants me to give my consent to the match, 
if his son can succeed in gaining the good-will of 
the lady. Of course, as a practical man, he is aware 
that he is no match in birth for her ; and that if, 
when it came to the point, I should refuse my 
consent, it is no use his boy’s setting his heart 
upon it, and wasting his time in useless pursuit. 
I said I must think the matter over, and write to 
him later ; but I really don’t know what to say. I con- 
fess I have no particular desire for such a connection ; 


THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE. 


75 


but then, he could keep her like a princess. You 
have a good head on your shoulders, Claudia ; what 
do you think ? ” 

Claudia reviewed the situation rapidly. 

“ If I were you, papa, I should give my consent 
— provided, of course, that Dorothy cares about the 
young man enough to wish to marry him. You 
commit yourself to nothing very serious by that ; 
for I think you must know Dorothy’s disposition by 
this time. If she should herself decide to marry 
this man, it is most unlikely that any arguments of 
yours or ours would stop her; whilst if she refuses 
him, no harm is done, and no one is compromised. 
I should give the sanction asked for, undoubtedly ; 
for, really, the child might do worse, and with her 
peculiar temperament will be scarcely likely to do 
better.” 

As Mr. Templeton always found it easier to say 
yes than no, this advice was quite to his liking. 
He commended Claudia’s sound sense, and went 
away to compose his letter, whilst that young 
woman turned to her sister and said — 

“ After all, better the tallow-chandler with money 
than the country cousin without.” 

Mabel laughed. 


76 


dokothy’s vocation. 


“ There *s something in that, to be sure. I 
wonder what it is people find in her. I confess 
I don’t understand it myself. But I should not 
object to see her married off and done for.” 

“Well, perhaps that will happen before so very 
long, if she can only make choice between her two 
admirers.” 

“ Shall you say anything to her ? 99 

“ About this proposal ? No, I think not ; she is 
better left to her own devices. It may be just as 
well to let her go on as she is doing now. He 
evidently flatters himself he is being encouraged, 
and it is unnecessary to alarm her and put her on 
her guard.” 

Mabel looked up quickly. 

“You mean ?” 

“ I mean that Dorothy must learn, as other 
people have to. learn, that she cannot go on playing 
fast and loose with impunity. She evidently prides 
herself on her arch vivacity and power of repartee, 
and attracts people round her and gives them every 
encouragement. If one of these admirers expects 
more of her, it is her fault, not theirs, and she 
must take the consequences of her own folly. It 
is useless warning Dorothy ; she never will take 


THE CHILDREN’S FAVOURITE. 


77 


advice ; but if she receives a definite offer, and then 
seems inclined to play fast and loose, we can come 
down upon her with some show of authority. She 
has an immense idea of duty. I believe she would 
almost marry from a sense of duty, if she could be 
made to understand it clearly.” 

Mabel looked with a sort of admiration at her 
sister. It seemed to her that Claudia’s tactics were 
very clever. 

“Give her line, and let her entangle herself 
hopelessly,” she murmured to herself. “ Not a bad 
idea. We certainly want Dorothy removed out of 
our daily path.” 

They wanted this very much more in the course 
of a few days. 




CHAPTER VI. 

A TERRIBLE BLOW. 

r &T is a sad pity we cannot get cards for Mrs. 
^ Forresters garden-party to-morrow,” said 
Claudia one evening, as the three sisters 
sat together in the drawing-room after 
dinner — all, for a wonder, being at home. 
“ I can’t think how it is. One generally has no 
difficulty when one’s mind is set on a thing.” 

“ But why should you care about going to a 
place you ’re not asked to ? ” questioned the unso- 
phisticated Dorothy, “ and where you don’t know 
the hostess even? I should think it was very 
stupid.” 

Neither sister deigned to notice this childish re- 
mark. Claudia continued in an aggrieved tone — 

“ Mrs. Dalrymplc said that the great catch of 

the season was to be there, too-— at least, the 

78 



A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


7fi 


greatest catch out of the ranks of the richest. 
I don’t know that I have heard of him before, but 
they say he has a fine old property, and some ten 
or twelve thousand a-year, and has come to the city 
to look out for a wife. Mr. Moore was the name, 
I think — wasn’t it, Mabel ? ” 

“ I couldn’t quite catch it, we were going over 
such a rough piece of road at the time, but I fan- 
cied it began with an S.” 

“ Well, anyhow, whatever the name is, the fact 
remains that he is very wealthy, and in want of a 
wife. Mrs. Dairy mple said she would introduce me 
the first opportunity. It is tiresome we cannot get 
cards for to-morrow. He is very good-looking and 
distinguished in his air and manner, she says. I 
can’t quite think how it is we have never met him 
before.” 

“We shall be certain to do so before very long,” 
answered Mabel confidently, by no means displeased 
at the prospect of the encounter. Both Mr. Temple- 
ton’s elder daughters were decidedly good-looking 
girls, Claudia in the serene and Mabel in the viva- 
cious style of beauty ; but they had been out for 
many seasons, and yet had not succeeded in accom- 
plishing their great object in life — that of obtain- 


80 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


ing a handsome establishment for themselves. They 
were still, however, full of hope and confidence, in 
nowise afraid that their charms were fading; con- 
fident, in the many evidences around them, that 
women who have passed their girlhood and first 
youth are often much more attractive than they 
have been during the more immature stages of 
development. Claudia and Mabel quite passed 
over the fact that this increasing charm, which is 
woman’s highest attribute, is dependent on some- 
thing beyond mere physical beauty; that it arises 
from beauty of character, unselfish sweetness of dis- 
position, refinement of mind, and the development 
of the powers of thought and intellect. They did 
not pause to ask whether the idle, selfish, pleasure- 
seeking life they lived would be likely to create in 
them this coveted power to charm and fascinate. 
They judged far too superficially, and were too 
lazily self-satisfied, to attempt any close analysis, 
or even an ordinary amount of observation. They 
fancied that victory must lie before them in some 
form or another, and now turned their attention 
towards this new star, as they had often done to- 
wards others before him. 

Dorothy, however, paid little heed to the idle 


A Terrible blow. 


81 


talk upon the subject that occupied her sisters 
during the best part of the evening. She was 
deep in a book of philosophical essays that Ralph 
had lent her, and was enjoying it all the more be- 
cause it was a little beyond her grasp, and kept her 
attention on the stretch the whole time. 

Several passages were marked to be talked over 
with Ralph on the first opportunity ; for Dorothy 
had begun to find out that this lazy young man 
was anything but lazy-headed, and had read and 
thought and studied to no small purpose. The 
things that puzzled her sadly all seemed as clear as 
daylight to him, and he had a terse, apposite way 
of putting them before her that made instruction 
from him a positive pleasure ; and the absence of 
all effort or sense of superiority gave a distinct and 
characteristic flavour to his method of conveying 
information. 

Already several new worlds were opening before 
Dorothy, and whenever she could get the time she 
was eager to follow up the beginnings that had 
been made. She did not neglect any of her 
many little nameless duties on this account. The 
children and her poor people were looked after 

just as before, and she was always ready to accom- 

F 


82 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


pany Mrs. Seymour wherever she wished ; but 
when there was leisure to do so, she plunged 
eagerly into new studies, and felt her mind ex- 
panding, and her range of vision increased in a 
fashion that was a positive delight. 

Rolling easily along a suburban road next day, 
in the comfortable landau that was always at Mrs. 
Seymour’s disposal, Dorothy asked what was their 
destination. 

“ We are going to a garden-party at Mrs. 
Forrester*'}, my dear. Mr. Forrester was one of 
my husband’s greatest friends, and his sons were 
at college with Ralph. They have a lovely garden 
at Twickenham, and a fine old Tudor house ; but 
perhaps you know the place ? ” 

A little smile of amusement was dimpling 
Dorothy’s face, not unseen by the watchful 
Ralph. 

“No, I have never been there before. We do 
not know the Forresters.” 

"Mrs. Forrester was asking about you the other 
evening; she sent you a special invitation.” 

“ That was very kind,” said Dorothy simply, 
thinking, however, that it would perhaps be better 
to say nothing of such kindness to her sisters. 


A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


83 


"You play tennis, of course?” said Ralph, as 
they approached their destination. 

“Oh, yes, I play rather well. I belong to a 
club in the next gardens, and last year I won the 
tournament.” 

“ Of course you play well — one can see that 
with half an eye. I am going to ask you to be 
my partner to-day. I *ve not played yet this season, 
but I feel a kind of yearning to wield my bat 
again.” 

“ But, my dear boy, ought you to ? ” gently re- 
monstrated his mother. “You are not to exert 

* 

yourself, you know.” 

“No fear, mother. I have not the smallest 
intention of doing so. Dorothy will have all the 
exertion. I shall merely stand by the net and 
take what comes to me.” 

Dorothy laughed gaily, and before very long she 
found herself standing up to play, upon a lawn as 
smooth and soft as velvet, with a gaily dressed 
crowd grouped about the players, watching them 
with more or less of interest. In her hand she 
held a new bat of workman-like appearance, and 
with the magic name of a first-rate maker upon it. 
Ralph had brought it to her, hoping it would suit 


84 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


her ; and he had a similar bat himself, somewhat 
more heavily weighted. 

As Dorothy afterwards told him, as they stood 
victorious together, “it played of itself and she 
confided to him that to own one like this had been 
for long the aim and object of her life. 

“ When you ’ve got a good thing, stick to it,” he 
answered, in his lazy way. “ That ’s an excellent 
motto through life. Now come and have an ice. 
We ’ll play again later. It seems to me that you 
and I could play a love sett against most of the 
couples hero.” 

“ Modest ! ” answered Dorothy, laughing, as she 
let him lead her away. 

It was altogether a very pleasant party. Ralph 
took her in hand more than usual ; made the tour 
with her of grounds and greenhouses, played tennis 
as her partner, and with nobody else; and ended 
by carrying off the bat that had so won her 
admiration. 

“ He got it for you, my dear,” Mrs. Seymour ex- 
plained. “ He heard you say the other day that 
you were wanting a new one. Ralph thinks he is 
such a connoisseur in such matters that it is a 
charity to allow him to exercise his talents.” 


A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


85 


So Dorothy thanked Ralph in her frank, child- 
like fashion, and carried her prize home in triumph. 
It had been a very pleasant party, and Mrs. 
Forrester, in speaking to the girl, hoped (with a 
little smile not altogether understood) that she 
should see more of her later. Dorothy was in 
very gay spirits that evening, but she hardly knew 
whether or not to say anything to her sisters as 
to where she had been. She wished to act in 
the way that would give them least annoyance, 
and yet be quite straightforward, for she had a 
hatred of the smallest tinge of deceit. Luckily 
for her the matter was easily settled. 

“ I went with the Seymours to-day to ** she 

was beginning, when Claudia, who was very cross 
that day, cut her snappishly short. 

“ Pray do not inflict upon us the doings of your 
precious Seymours. Go where you like, and do 
what you like, but. spare us the subsequent story 
of your doings.” 

So Dorothy subsided gladly enough, feeling sure 
her story would only have aroused jealousy and 
anger, even though she had hardly spoken to any- 
one but Ralph, and had not, so far as she knew, so 
much as caught a glimpse of the wealthy Mr. Moore. 


86 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


A few days later Claudia and Mabel were at a 
crowded soiree , and were seated in a comfortable 
recess with their friend Mrs. Dalrymple. The 
latter was quite a new acquaintance, with whom 
the girls had struck up a great friendship on the 
strength of many tastes in common, and a fellow- 
feeling in social matters that was pleasant to all 
parties. 

Mrs. Dalrymple was somewhat loud in voice and 
manner, and, like many people of her type, ex- 
ceedingly good-natured when it pleased her to 
be so, and very fond of having a voice in 
everybody’s business, and a finger in her neigh- 
bour’s pie. 

“ My dears, he is to be here to-night,” she said 
in loud confidential whispers, and they knew at 
once who was meant by that emphatic “ he.” 
“But, do you know, I am almost afraid he is 
already engaged to be married. Everyone was 
saying so at Mrs. Forrester’s the other day, and 
certainly he did pay her very marked attention 
— a very pretty girl, too, but I did not catch the 
name ; people said she was a relation, and went 
about a good deal with them. But then, it may 
not be true, of course. Rumours always do get so 


A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


87 


quickly about when there is money in the case. 
Ah ! they must be here, I think, for that is 
certainly his mother over there — that pretty old 
lady in black satin with the wonderful lace ; but 
I do not see him anywhere.” 

Claudia and Mabel both felt something of a 
simultaneous shock, although they felt that it 
must be a mistake. They had both of them by 
this time seen Mrs. Seymour, who had once had 
a cup of tea in their drawing-room, and had once 
called on their reception day ; but Ralph had not 
been with her either time. They had treated her 
with but scant courtesy, and they had felt some- 
what annoyed at seeing her in the rooms that 
night. 

Yet Mrs. Dairy mple seemed to be looking 
straight across at her, and nobody else was dressed 
in black satin and lace — nobody, at least, in that 
particular group. Moreover, the hostess and one 
or two people, decidedly the best bom in the 
company, were paying distinct court to her, and 
she was receiving their advances with a quiet 
high-bred ease and courtesy that bespoke in the 
most emphatic way the true gentlewoman. 


88 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Claudia turned hot and cold at once. 

“ Which did you say was Mrs. Moore?” 

“ Seymour, my dear — Seymour ", there, opposite 
to us; the old lady with the wavy white hair. 
She has the sweetest face, I think, and they say 
she has the most beautiful diamonds of any woman 
in the country, though she never wears them. 
I suppose they are being kept for the son’s wife. I 
believe it was rather unexpected their stepping into 
such a fine property, though it is long enough ago 
now. Some people say her husband was quite a poor 
country gentleman when she married him, and that 
she is not in the least ashamed of having once been 
poor. People with an income like that, and an old 
name, too, have no cause to be ashamed of anything, 
of course. Well, they carry off the position well, at 
any rate, now. They both have the air of having 
been born to the purple, although some people say 
they are mighty particular and strait-laced in their 
ways — much more so than is the fashion now-a-days. 
Well, well ! they can afford to pick and choose, I 
suppose. Oh, yes, there is the son — that very tall, 
good-looking young man, with the clever face and 
sleepy-looking grey eyes, there, coming this way, and 
looking down smiling at the girl on his arm. And 

























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% 




* 






4 













I • 




























































































A TERRIBLE BLOW. 


91 


— why, yes — it is the very same he paid such at- 
tentions to at Mrs. Forrester’s. I am afraid it 
is a gone case; and she is certainly charmingly 
pretty.” 

Claudia turned suddenly pale, whilst Mabel went 
crimson to the roots of her hair. 

The tall young man, the owner of this handsome 
property, the “catch” of the season, was none other 
than the despised country cousin, the son of Mrs. 
Seymour ; and the girl to whom he was said to 
be already engaged was actually their own sister 
Dorothy 1 




CHAPTER YIL 

SPEAKING OUT. 

OPT miserable little hyprocrite ! Why did 
you not tell us ? ” cried Mabel. 

“I am perfectly ashamed of you, 
Dorothy,” added Claudia. “ I know 
your many faults full well ; but I did 
think you at least straightforward.” 

“ You little, sly, deceitful thing ! ” 

“ We are perfectly shocked at your want of 
candour ! ” 

“You deserve to be turned out of the house, 
neck and crop! I always knew no good would 
come of your canting, hypocritical ways and pre- 
tences of being better than other people.” 

Dorothy, who had just been dropped at her own 
door by Mrs. Seymour’s carriage, stood perfectly 

still and silent under this inexplicable storm of 
92 



SPEAKING OUT. 


93 


railing. She did not understand a word of it, but 
as she was pretty well accustomed to her sisters’ 
bursts of unreasonable anger, she did not think 
very much of it, and stood quite quiet until a pause 
came, of which she availed herself to ask what 
they meant. 

“ Mean, indeed ! ” repeated Mabel, in angry 
scorn ; but Claudia had seated herself in a kind of 
majestic dignity, and motioned to Dorothy to do 
the same. 

" It is idle to keep up this farce of innocence. 
Why did you not tell us before about these Sey- 
mours ? ” 

“ What about them ? You always say you are 
sick of their very name.” 

Claudia beat her foot upon the ground. 

“ Why did you not tell us who they were, you 
impertinent little chit ? ” 

“ Who they are ? I thought you knew that 
better than I. They are country cousins and poor 
relations to you, and to me very kind friends. I 
thought you knew all that long ago.” 

Mabel would have burst out with another storm 
of rebuke, but Claudia interposed, though her own 
voice quivered with passion. 


94 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Why did you tell us nothing of the fine pro- 
perty he owns ? ” 

“ Manages, you mean,” answered Dorothy, with a 
slight scornful smile, for she began to understand 
the situation better now. “ Didn’t you know that 
he was a land-agent ? I believe I have said so, only 
you never will listen to a word I say about the 
Seymours.” 

The sisters exchanged glances ; for a moment 
they began to breathe more freely ; but they 
thought of Mrs. Dalryinple’s assured words, recalled 
the attentions paid to the Seymours throughout 
the evening, and their hearts sank again. 

“ Did he tell you he was only an agent ? ” 

“ Well, no — not exactly.” 

“ Then, how do you know ? n 

Dorothy paused to think how she did know. A 
new light was breaking in upon her own mind, and 
she was not sure that it was a pleasant one. 

The next words were somewhat falteringly 
spoken. 

“I — I — fancied so. He keeps having to go 
down to look after things. You always said he 
was so poor ; of course I thought he was the agent 
of the property. I never dreamed of anything 


SPEAKING OUT. 


95 


else ; ” and then Dorothy recalled the humorous 
gravity of Ralph’s face, and the sleepy twinkle of 
his grey eyes as she had asked him one day some- 
thing about the duties of an agent, and had 
expressed it as her opinion that he was very young 
to be intrusted with so responsible an office. Her 
own cheeks began to grow hot at the recollection 
of several remarks she had made, and pieces of 
advice she had given him on this and other 
occasions. 

She was more meek than was her wont under 
the rigid cross-examination to which she was now 
subjected ; but from everything that was gathered 
from her replies, it became more and more evident 
to the angry sisters that Mrs. Dalrymple’s informa- 
tion had been correct, and that their own selfish- 
ness and petty pride had led them into the most 
fatal blunder that had ever befallen them. They 
were ready to tear their hair with rage and vexa- 
tion ; they were furious with Dorothy, yet almost 
altogether tongue-tried, for they remembered but 
too well how systematically they had snubbed all 
allusions to the Seymours, being a little bit ashamed 
of the part they were playing, and in great fear lest 
their vacillating father should change his tactics, 


96 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


and desire his elder daughters to notice his kinsfolk 
more. The only consolation derived from the 
interview was the conviction that nothing of a 
tender nature had passed “between Dorothy and 
Ralph. She spoke of him with far too much ease 
and composure. He had evidently treated her 
from the first with the familiarity of a cousin, and 
possibly this was really a better state of affairs 
than if he had observed more of ceremony. 

“ He thinks of her as a mere child — as indeed 
she is,” said Claudia to her sister, after Dorothy 
had at last been dismissed. “ There is a little 
comfort in that; but it is high time that this 
intimacy is stopped. Why, she has been almost 
living with the Seymours this past month, and the 
children have gone there every week. Why didn’t 
we find it all out before ? How came papa to be 
so egregiously ignorant of what happened years 
ngo, when they came into the property? Fancy 
that little chit being taken to Mrs. Forrester’s 
and Mrs. Montague-Mortimer’s, and Gore House — 
places we would have given anything to be at — 
and our knowing nothing about it ? I call it 
scandalous ! ” 

“ I always said she was a nasty little sly thing, 


SPEAKING OUT. 


97 


and would do us some mischief one of these days. 
It’s coming true now.” 

“ She shall not be allowed to do it any more. 
Things must not go on like this.” 

“ I don’t see how you ’re to stop them. She has 
been coming and going at will there this past six 
weeks ; to stop it now would do more harm than 
good. Everyone would see through us.” 

Claudia bit her lip. She had felt that her 
authority might be successfully exerted over Dorothy, 
but had not paused to consider what effect its 
exercise might have upon the Seymours. 

“ Something must be done. We must change 
our tactics, make excuses, and see as much of these 
people as possible. Dorothy must not have the 
monopoly. We must push the tallow-chandler 
connection as far as possible. I wish I could 
think she would take a fancy to him. At least, 
we must do what we can, and supersede her with 
the Seymours; they cannot really care much for 
the society of a mere child.” 

Mabel, however, looked less assured. She was 
in some things more acute than her sister. 

“That remains to be proved. They may be 

hopelessly affronted by the way we have behaved. 

G 


98 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


There will undoubtedly be something suspicious in 
the way we suddenly turn round.” 

“ Dorothy did not think they were offended. 
She said they never appeared to notice anything 
amiss in our conduct.” 

Then the sisters exchanged glances in silence, 
not altogether certain that a well-bred silence and 
apparent lack of observation on the part of people 
like the Seymours was to be regarded as a favour- 
able sign. Possibly it might express something 
rather more nearly akin to contempt, or at least 
an indifference that was almost as bad. 

Still, there was nothing left now but to face the 
situation they had forced upon themselves, and 
make the best of it as far as was possible, recover- 
ing lost ground if it were by any means practicable. 

Early the next afternoon Mr. Templeton and his 
two eldest daughters called at the private hotel in 
Strafford Street. Dorothy had been safely de- 
spatched in an opposite direction ; and, indeed, she 
had not the smallest wish to dispute the field with 
her sisters. 

The Seymours were both at home, and received 
their guests with quiet friendliness, and without 
the least appearance of pique. Mr. Templeton’s 


SPEAKING OUT. 


99 


somewhat blundering attempts at apology were cut 
short in gentle, high-bred fashion by Mrs. Seymour, 
who told him that in sparing dear Dorothy so 
much, he had done more than she had ever 
expected of him in making her visit to town enjoy- 
able. Then, gliding off to iinpersonal subjects, she 
conversed during the visit with the greatest ease 
and cordiality; whilst the girls did their utmost 
to draw out Ralph, and to win him over to the 
easy cousinly terms he had evidently established 
with Dorothy. 

Ralph, however, proved a little baffling, yet they 
could not tell why. He was easy to talk to ; he 
had plenty to say for himself, and his cool, rather 
languid manner was not in the least repellent ; but 
he perplexed them by his comments and replies. 
A good deal of what he said was decidedly enig- 
matical, and they had an uncomfortable feeling of 
being read through and through by those keen, 
sleepy eyes, whilst not at all certain that some of 
his smoothest speeches were not barbed with shafts 
of delicate satire, that they were unable either to 
elude or detect. 

Altogether, the interview was not entirely com- 
fortable or satisfactory, and it was a relief at last 


100 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


to turn to Mrs. Seymour, and open the principal 
matter in hand. They wanted, now that they 
were a little less deeply engaged, to give a party 
in honour of their cousins. Would Mrs. Seymour 
give them a day when they were not otherwise 
engaged, which might at once be fixed upon, and 
the invitations despatched accordingly ! 

A smile of a slightly mocking character played 
round the corner of Ralph’s lips as he heard this 
proposition, and his face was set in lines that were 
a little sarcastic. Mrs. Seymour, however, quietly 
thanked Claudia, and gave her a choice of several 
evenings that would equally well suit her. 

“ We are quiet people ; we do not go out very 
often — not more than once or twice in a week, 
certainly,” she said. “We are not very fond of 
your city gaieties, but old friends and kinsfolk 
have a claim that cannot be set aside. We will 
come whichever day you please to give, Miss 
Templeton and accordingly the Thursday in the 
following week was selected. 

The guests took their leave, pleased at having 
gained their point and having partially broken the 
ice; but they had (the girls at least) an uneasy 
sense of having been seen through, and had they 


SPEAKING OUT. 


101 


heard the conversation between mother and son 
that followed their exit, they would have been still 
less reassured. 

“ Evidently they have just discovered that you 
are Mrs. Seymour of Seymour Park,” remarked 
Ralph, lounging back with his broad shoulders 
against the high carved mantle-shelf. 

“ It looks a little like it,” answered the mother 
very quietly. 

“ I almost wonder you consented to go.” 

“ I should be sorry to take any notice of such 
a paltry pride as they showed at first. Those 
things are far better passed over in silence.” 

“ Yes, I believe you are right. It would be 
contemptible to notice it. I am glad they did 
not know before. It was really a pleasure to 
see them in their true colours, before they knew 
the true state of the case. I like to see and 
study human nature as it is, without the gloss 
or veneer of self-interest upon it. On the 
whole, it has been a very amusing episode, if 
not a very reputable one. I am glad these purse- 
proud people are not very near us in blood.” 

Mrs. Seymour smiled gently. 

“ Take care, Ralph ; pride of blood is not so 


102 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


very much safer a possession than pride of wealth. 
And then, our little Dorothy belongs to them 
too.” 

A new light awoke in Ralph’s eyes. 

“ She will not, I hope, belong to them much 
longer,” he said, with exceeding quietness. 

His mother well knew that very low, quiet 
tone of his — it was only used when his deeper 
feelings were aroused. 

She looked at him, but did not speak. He 
was gazing straight out before him. His face 
seemed to have sharpened slightly in its outline : 
this was an evidence that he was thinking deeply. 
It was a fine type of face, the mother thought, 
set in such resolute lines, yet with something of 
underlying tenderness that would have escaped 
eyes less comprehending and sympathetic than 
her own, but was patent enough to her. His 
next words caused her no start of surprise. 

“ I daresay you have guessed that I intend, 
if I can, to make Dorothy Templeton my wife ? ” 

“ I have hoped it, my son.” 

He stooped and kissed her : an unusual demon- 
stration with him. 

‘ You will love her as a daughter ? ” 


SPEAKING OUT. 


103 


M I think I do that already. I have loved 
her ever since I saw her; first for her mother’s 
sake, and then for her own. Ralph, do you think 
she knows ? ” 

“ No, not yet. She is wonderfully simple and 
child-like : that is part of her charm ; but I am 
quite content to play a waiting game/* 

“ You think you will win at last ?” 

“ I hope so ; ” and there was a look upon his 
face that gave him the air of a man not used 
to defeat, and by no means prepared to accept it. 

But the mother looked a little anxious. 

“ Suppose there should be another in the 
field?” 


Ralph’s smile was a little peculiar in its calm, 
quiet confidence. 

“ If there be another in the field, as you call 
it, and he has Dorothy’s heart, there will be no 
chance for me as it is ; whereas if I hold it, 
there will be no chance for him, and I can afford 
to wait my time patiently. I think it is my 
nature to be patient, and to take good as well 
as evil very much as it comes. A few weeks 
will settle all ; but I have no disposition to be 
precipitate. Besides, the chances will be fewer. 


I 04 


DOROTHY’S VOCATION. 


you will see. Dorothy will not now be permitted 
to run in and out at will. You will have two 
fashionable young ladies at your beck and call, 
instead. You see if I do not prove a true 
prophet 1 ” 





CHAPTER VIII. 

MISS TEMPLETON “ AT HOME.* 

OW, Dorothy, your place is in the coffee- 
room till the people have done coming,” 
said Claudia in her authoritative fashion, 
as the girl descended to the drawing- 
room about nine o’clock on the evening 
of their reception. “ I, of course, must be on 
duty here, and Mabel will take the music-room 
under her special care. You must be down- 
stairs, seeing that the servants do their duty 
there. It is always much better for some one 
of the family to be in the coffee-room, and then, 
when people have done arriving, and the room 
is wanted for supper, you can come upstairs.” 

Dorothy did not attempt to dispute Claudia’s 
order, but she went down to her, post with a 

little more gravity and less alacrity than was. 

105 



106 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


usual with her. She knew that for at least two 
hours she would be doomed to the dining-room, 
where nobody would stay more than a few 
minutes. She also knew that Mrs. Seymour 
and Ralph (the people she really wanted to see) 
almost always came early to such gatherings, 
and left early, so that if she obeyed Claudia 
she would hardly speak to them — for they by 
no means always visited the coffee-room on arriv- 
ing at a house. And it was a whole long week 
since she had seen either of them. She could 
not tell exactly how it had been, but every day 
her sisters had found things that must be done, 
places she must visit with them, and engage- 
ments she must not neglect. They had never 
in their lives seemed to care so much for her 
society ; and, as a natural consequence, she had 
been prevented from making a single call in 
Strafford Street, and very much she missed the 
pleasant companionship to which she had grown 
used. 

She had been a good deal puzzled, too, by 
allusions to “ Harold Sopely,” as if that great 
overgrown youth, without two ideas in his head, 
could be anything to her; but Dorothy had paid 


MISS TEMPLETON “AT HOME. 5 


107 


little heed to words she did not understand. 
They were forgotten almost as soon as heard. 
She had other matters on her mind. 

To-night had been eagerly looked forward to 
for many days, and now it seemed as if that 
were going to be spoiled too. However, Dorothy 
was not given to despondency, nor to selfish 
broodings of any kind. Her face was bright as 
she greeted the arriving guests, her laugh free 
and disengaged ; she had plenty to say, and said 
it brightly and pleasantly, and no one would have 
an idea what a load sometimes lay at her heart, 
nor what a keen pang of disappointment shot 
through her as she saw through the open door 
the vision of a dark head and pair of broad 
shoulders vanishing up the staircase. They had 
come, then, and had gone straight upstairs. She 
would hardly so much as see them all the 
evening ! 

A few moments later there was a momentary 
lull in the coffee-room, as is not unfrequently the 
case. For the moment Dorothy was alone there, 
and she turned to the open window, and stood 
there half-concealed by the muslin curtain, to cool 
her hot cheeks with the fresh night air, and sur- 


108 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


reptitiously wipe away the tears of disappointment 
that had risen unbidden to her eyes. Two melan- 
choly cats in a state of deep mutual irritation were 
performing one of those lugubrious duets so familiar 
to the ears of householders. At another time 
Dorothy might have been amused at their peculiar 
method of expressing displeasure, but now she 
did not even see them. 

“ What sweet and dulcet strains ! ” said a voice 
close behind her ; “ no wonder you are thus en- 
tranced — lost to all sense of sight or sound. Do 
you mean to cut me, Dorothy ? Because, if so, 
pray say so, and we’ll proceed to argue out the 
matter in the fashion of those two sworn foes out 
there.” 

“ Oh, Ralph ! ” — Dorothy turned quickly round, 
the sunshine all come back to her face — “ I ’m so 
glad it is you ! I was afraid I was not going to 
see you all the evening.” 

“ Why so ? ” 

“ Oh, because, you see, it *s my place to stay 
down here till everybody has come ; and then up- 
stairs, when the rooms are so full, one can hardly 
move. You didn’t come in for coffee on your way 
up, so I thought I should hardly see you. I wanted 


; 


MISS TEMPLETON “AT HOME.” 100 

to tell your mother how sorry I am that I have 
been too busy these last days to come and see 
her. Will you have some coffee, though ? ” 

“ Yes, please. What has made you so des- 
perately busy all at once ? ” 

“ Oh, I hardly know. Things will turn up from 
time to time, you see,” answered Dorothy innocently. 
“ I ’m afraid I have been rather rude, never going 
anywhere ; Claudia and Mabel say so, and they 
know. I hope I shall soon get through my duties, 
but things turn up so oddly. Your mother is not 
vexed, is she ? ” 

“ Not in the least.” Ralph was looking down at 
her with that shadowy smile in his eyes she knew 
so well. “ Now, how can we get out there?” he 
asked, indicating the little expanse of ground digni- 
fied by the name of garden. “ Upstairs the rooms 
are like an oven. I think it looks pleasanter out 
there ; don’t you ? ” 

“ Much pleasanter,” answered Dorothy, laughing ; 
“ but my duty is here.” 

“ Oh, that is all nonsense !” was the^cool reply. 
“ It ’s ten o’clock ; nobody expects any one in the 
coffee-room after that. Here goes ! ” and he stepped 
over the window-frame and out upon the leads be- 


110 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


neath ; and in half-a-minute Dorothy had sprung 
lightly down beside him. 

“ Ah ! we ’ve stopped that sweet concert ; what 
a pity ! Never mind ; we’ve got this place to our- 
selves, at least ; and there’s room to breathe, which 
is something. How are the babies ? All asleep at 
this hour, I suppose ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! at least, they ought to ba It 
wouldn’t do to pay them a visit now.” 

“No, I suppose not ; may I come another day ? 
1 pledged them my solemn word of honour that I 
would.” 

“ Oh, do, if you can ! They would love it, poor 
little things. I think town-bred children are much 
to be pitied ; all days are so much alike, and there 
are so few pleasures they can get — especially when 
they have no mother to take care of them.” 

“ I thought that was your vocation,” said Ralph ; 
and Dorothy looked up quickly, wondering how and 
where he had learned the phrase, or if he had only 
employed the word by chance. 

“ I do what I can,” she answered ; “ but no one 
can really fill the mother’s place.” 

“ Well, I don’t know. It seems to me, from 
what I have seen of some classes of mothers, that 


MISS TEMPLETON “AT HOME.** 11] 

the children don’t get much good from them 
There are the fashionable mothers, you know, who 
have not a moment to spare from morning to night 
to visit the nurseries or have the children about 
them ; and there are philanthropic mothers, who 
are so eager over their ‘ cases * and their good works 
that their own homes have to take care of them- 
selves, and the children are placed under the care 
of some of these distressed ‘ cases/ who stand in 
need of a character — I have seen homes of this 
description, in which sufficiently curious anomalies 
are to be witnessed daily ; and there are literary 
and clever mothers, who care only that the child- 
ren should be ‘ brought on,’ as Dr. Blimber would 
call it, and are little better to them than a kind 
of terrible head-governess. I have seen children 
who would shrink away at the sight of their 
mother — prefer any company to hers. For my- 
self, I have had other experience. I have been 
blessed with the stamp of mother who makes herself 
from the very first the best friend and confidante 
of her children ; I used to think that all mothers 
were of this kind. I found out my mistake very 
soon, when I began to go out into the world and 
observe for myself.” 


112 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ There are very few women like Mrs. Seymour,” 
answered Dorothy warmly, and with an unconscious 
inflexion of wistful sadness in her voice. “ I wish 
there were more.” 

“ I ’m glad you appreciate my mother ” answered 
Ralph ; and there was always something in the tone 
of the two words, “ My mother,” when spoken by 
him, that showed very clearly what the feelings of 
this son were. “ I don’t know how it is, but if 
any one I meet doesn’t seem to care for her, or to 
treat her with proper respect and reverence, I find 
it very difficult to restrain the contempt I at once 
feel. It may sound irrational, but it ’s an instinct 
in my nature, and I don’t think it often plays one 
false. When I see my mother take to any one, as 
she took to you, and see also that the feeling 
is mutual, then I know at once that we shall be 
friends.” 

Ralph spoke more gravely and earnestly than 
was his wont, albeit the lazy languor of his manner 
was not entirely laid aside. Dorothy, who was not 
herself in a jesting mood to-night, was glad to hear 
him speak in such a strain. All the restless sense 
of disappointment had utterly disappeared. She 
forgot that she had ever felt it as she paced the 


MISS TEMPLETON “ AT HOME. 5 


113 


little enclosure by Ralph’s side, quite oblivious of 
the flight of time. He asked her a good deal about 
herself, her habits, her plans for the future, what 
they were going to do when July came to an end, 
where they were going, and what the summer pro- 
gramme would be. 

Dorothy did not know much about this. She 
had not heard what was going to be done, but it 
was pleasant to think that Ralph cared to know, 
that he felt a real interest in the things that con- 
cerned her daily life. 

“ Dorothy ! Dorothy ! Where are you ? ” 

It was Claudia’s voice at the dining-room 
window, calling to her with a very audible cadence 
of angry irritation in the tone. Ralph felt by the 
start of the little hand upon his arm that Dorothy 
was half afraid of her sister’s displeasure ; but he 
held it fast, and led her up to the window at which 
Claudia stood, a distinct storm-cloud upon her 
handsome face. 

“ What are you doing, Dorothy ? ” 

“ We are playing the part of a pair of Peris at 
the gate of Paradise, Miss Templeton,” answered 
Ralph, speaking with the extreme deliberation that 

indicated his intention of being a little provoking. 

H 


114 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Waiting until the time has come when we may 
claim an entrance there. Dorothy was detained in 
the lower regions by duties imposed upon her, I by 
doctor’s orders, that forbid me to spend too much 
time in heated rooms. We have been enjoying a 
delightful ramble in your garden. In the darkness 
all gardens are alike, and we have fancied ourselves 
in a blooming Eden, have we not Dorothy ? May 
we claim our entrance into the superior regions 
above ? Thanks ; how good of you to say so ! ’ 
Ralph swung his long legs over the window-sill, 
lifted Dorothy after him as if she had been a child, 
and favoured Claudia with a little satirical bow, as 
he offered her his arm, that sent off the younger 
sister into a paroxysm of laughter. 

There was no more depression for Dorothy that 
evening ; she was engrossed by Mrs. Seymour for a 
good while, and was made happy in the assurance 
that no umbrage had been taken at her recent 
desertion, and that it was understand as a matter 
of course that she would come when she could. 
She did not see much more of Ralph that evening 
till quite late on, when he hunted her out and took 
her down to the partially deserted supper-room, to 
insist that she was properly refreshed. 













MISS TEMPLETON “AT HOME. 


117 


“ I Ve done my duty by the world at large,” ho 
explained as he settled her comfortably in a corner, 
and supplied her with what she liked best ; “ now 
I ’m going to combine duty and pleasure by seeing 
after you and myself.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Dorothy, “ I thought there must be 
some ulterior motive for such a pretty speech. I 
daresay you are hungry yourself.” 

“ Quite so,” answered Ralph. “ I ’m so con- 
stituted that I can only eat in congenial society. 
It ’s an awkward thing to be so sensitive, isn't it ? 
However, I can make up for lost time now.” 

They made very merry over their supper 
together now, however, and were so found by 
Claudia, who came down to look after the absent 
Ralph, whom she had missed once again from the 
drawing-rooms. Dorothy very well understood the 
black look upon her face, but Ralph again met her 
remarks with the utmost tranquillity, declined to 
move himself or to permit Dorothy to move, in 
reply to her very plainly expressed hints, and 
finally drove her discomfited from the field by his 
cool responses and masterly tactics. 

“ Does she bully you ? ” he asked with the great- 
est sang froid, as at length Claudia swept angrily 


118 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


away. Dorothy laughed, but looked a little 
nervous. She was acute enough to know very well 
what was meant by the sudden change of front 
exhibited by the family towards the Seymours, and 
she knew that Ralph’s open friendliness towards 
herself would be hotly resented now. But she 
could not explain that to him, despite an uncom- 
fortable feeling that he saw it all for himself, and 
all her answer was a rather inconclusive “ No.*' 

“ Strikes me they rather try to put you in the 
place of Cinderella ; and it ’s a rdle that suits you 
very well, on the whole. One always wonders, 
though, at the sisters’ craving to repeat the drama, 
as it did not end in a way particularly soothing to 
their feelings.” 

Dorothy laughed, and blushed a little nervously. 
She wished she knew how far Ralph grasped the 
situation ; she was too loyal to her family to like to 
see them humiliated, even though the humiliation 
might not be undeserved. 

Ralph saw her embarrassment, and at once 
changed the subject, and the rest of the evening 
slipped pleasantly by. He kept very close to her 
until they left, disregarding the manoeuvres of the 
sisters to dislodge him from his position. 


MISS TEMPLETON “AT HOME.” 119 

Dorothy slipped up to her own room almost as 
soon as the Seymours had left. She did not want 
the pleasure of the evening spoiled by a stormy 
scene with her sisters later. 





CHAPTER IX. 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. 



the best ; but as your elder sister and 


our father’s confidante , I cannot let you 
go on longer in this blind course of folly. "What 
answer do you intend giving to Mr. Harold Sopely 
when he comes for it, as he shortly will do, with a 
full assurance of success ? ” 

Dorothy was aware from the very first that 
something disagreeable was coming, but at this 
conclusion she was so astonished that she sat in 
absolute silence. 

“ It has, of course, been patent to us that you have 
"been giving him every possible encouragement, until 

the time when you discovered that our cousin Ralph 
120 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. 


121 


was a rich man, after which you changed your 
tactics, and, as was exemplified last night, endea- 
voured to engross his whole time and notice in a 
fashion that was sufficiently marked to raise both 
comment and criticism in several quarters. Such 
conduct is most unwomanly and out of taste, to use 
no harder an expression, and you have given Mr. 
Sopely and his son every cause to feel annoyed and 
aggrieved/' 

Dorothy had grown first red and then pale as 
this sermon proceeded. Now she forced herself to 
speak with great quietness and self-command. 

“ I am at a loss to understand you, Claudia. I 
have received a good deal of cousinly kindness from 
Ralph ever since I have known him, and last night 
was no exception, though I am sorry that I 
appeared, as you seem to imply, to neglect my 
other duties to talk to him. As for what you have 
said about the Sopelys, I simply do not understand 
what you mean.” 

“ You do not know, of course, that your encour- 
agement of the young man has been so marked 
that his father has been to papa to talk matters 
over with him, and gain his consent to the match ? 99 

Dorothy’s face flushed crimson. 


122 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ If that is so, there must be some extraordinary 
delusion somewhere. I rather dislike the young 
man than otherwise. His attentions are dis- 
agreeable. He has never dared to address a single 
word of love to me, and I shall take care that he 
never shall. His father’s action has been altogether 
precipitate and uncalled for; but I suppose people 
of that calibre have not the same instincts as 
ourselves. I thank you for warning me, Claudia. 
I will take care that there is no misunderstanding 
for the future.” 

But this was not exactly Claudia’s object. 

“ The fact of the case is this, Dorothy : you are 
really rather seriously compromised. These people 
consider that you have been encouraging Mr. Harold 
Sopely’s advances very emphatically, and I am 
bound to say that I cannot deny the charge. You 
had better think seriously about your answer. It 
is no enviable distinction to be known as a girl who 
plays fast and loose with her admirers.” 

A sudden gleam shone in Dorothy’s eyes. It 
was very hard to listen patiently to charges like 
these — charges that had not one particle of real 
foundation, and were prompted only by a spirit of 
malice and jealousy. She was acute enough to 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. 


123 


know that her sister had some ulterior motive in 
speaking to her thus, but Dorothy had too much 
real generosity and nobility of nature to wish to 
search too far for it, or to condemn on insufficient 
grounds. She rose quietly to put an end to the 
interview. 

“ I have never played fast and loose with any- 
body, Claudia, as you must know very well if you 
know anything at all about me. Mr. Harold Sopely 
has never been in the least encouraged. I do not 
know him at all well, and his society is altogether 
distasteful to me. I had no idea that he admired 
me. It is difficult even now to believe that he 
could entertain such an idea as you speak of, even 
for a moment. I will takt very good care that it 
shall go no further; and I do not wish to hear 
another word on the subject.” 

“ That is very likely, my dear,” answered 
Claudia, with a disagreeable sneer ; “ but you are 
hardly likely to get off so easily. You are too 
far committed to throw the whole thing up in this 
offhand fashion.” 

“ I am not committed one whit,” answered 
Dorothy, quietly and sturdily ; and she went away 
without another word. She was not much alarmed 


124 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


by Claudia’s vague threats, knowing that it pleased 
her sister to be oracular and mysterious without 
adequate cause ; but the whole thing was offensive 
and disagreeable to her, and she wished she could 
find some means of escaping from the distasteful social 
calls now made upon her so frequently, as well as 
from the unfriendly esp ionnage of her sisters. This 
wish was destined to be gratified in a fashion she 
little expected. 

“ I can’t imagine what has become of Dorothy,” 
remarked Ralph to his mother one day, about a 
week after Miss Templetons’ “ at home.” “ She 
has not been near us for ever so long, and though 
I am aware that her sisters desire to relegate her 
to the background now, I wonder she has sub- 
mitted with such docility.” 

“ Dorothy is a very good unselfish girl, and 
always puts her own pleasure last,” said Mrs. 
Seymour ; “ but I should like to have seen her, to 
say good-bye for our week of absence. You think 
you will not be detained for more than a week ? ” 

“ I think not ; but I don’t mean to go off* without 
seeing Dorothy. I ’ve got an idea that she is being 
bullied, and that ’s a thing I do not intend to stand.” 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. 


125 


Mrs. Seymour smiled a little, but made no 
comment. 

“ Can you call there with me this afternoon, 
mother ? ” 

“ No, my boy, I am sorry to say I cannot ; I have 
promised to go to that recital with General and 
Mrs. Archer.” 

“ Then I will go alone,” answered Ralph. “ If 
Claudia and Mabel are at home I shall be very 
graciously received ; ” and a rather odd expression 
passed over the young man’s face. “ It is delight- 
ful to find such cordiality amongst one’s kinsfolk. 
One’s heart quite warms to those who receive us in 
such generous open-hearted fashion.” 

“ Ralph ! ” said his mother gently. 

Ralph laughed, but made no open rejoinder, and 
presently the carriage came and took Mrs. Seymour 
away. She sent many loving messages to Dorothy, 
and said she should be insistent of claiming a little 
more of her time when they returned after their 
brief absence. Ralph promised to- deliver this 
message if he could see Dorothy, and mother and 
son parted, to meet again in the course of a few 
hours. 

When Mrs. Seymour returned to her hotel, she 


126 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


found Ralph back before her. He was standing in 
one of the windows, leaning against the window- 
shutter in a contemplative attitude. His mother 
saw at once, from the slightly stern and set lines 
into which his features had fallen, that something 
had occurred to move or annoy him. 

“ What is it, Ralph ? ” she asked. “ Have you 
seen Dorothy ? ” 

“ No ; Dorothy is a close prisoner, and will be 
one for the next month to come, at least.” 

“ My dear boy, what do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean what I say. Those children have 
developed scarlatina, the whole four of them. 
They have been ailing the past three days, and 
last night the doctor pronounced the verdict 
definitely. Of course it was at once settled that it 
was to be Dorothy’s vocation to nurse them, and 
of course she took the office upon herself with all 
possible readiness.” 

“Has she had it herself?** 

“ Yes, luckily ; and the sisters say they have not, 
which gives some show of reasonableness to their 
conduct. Mabel does not hesitate to say that ‘ of 
course ’ it was Dorothy who imported the infection 
from her ‘ disgusting district,’ so it is only fair she 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. 


127 


should accept the consequences of her own ill- 
advised actions. In any case, I believe she would 
have taken the same course. I do not suppose any 
considerations of a personal nature would get her 
away from those children when they were ill and 
suffering. But it is made a convenient excuse for 
cutting her off in complete isolation, whilst they 
play their game unimpeded.” 

“ You speak bitterly, Ralph ; but, after all, 
common caution demands isolation in cases like 
these. It would be impossible for Dorothy to 
nurse scarlet fever and to mix in society as well. 
You must see that for yourself ; and we both know 
which course the dear girl would choose, quite apart 
from any kind of com pulsion.” 

“ True, mother ; it is not altogether that which 
annoys me. It is something else that I heard to- 
day.” 

“ What is that ? ” 

“ It was when we were talking of Dorothy’s 
isolation, and the sacrifice it must be to be shut up 
so entirely for so many weeks. Mabel broke in 
with that would-be arch and piquant manner of hers, ' 
and said, ‘ Yes, it really luas a pity, coming just 
now — much more of a sacrifice than if it had come 


128 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


at another time; and as for Mr. Harold Sopely, 
they did not know what he would say to it all ! f 
I saw that I was meant to be interested and to ask 
questions, which I accordingly did. Claudia seemed 
inclined to hush her sister up, but Mabel would 
not be hushed, and went on, with many ‘ nods 
and becks and wreathed smiles,’ to inform me in 
plain terms that something very like an engage- 
ment existed between Dorothy and that young cad 
Sopely. She evidently believed she was impressing 
upon my mind the fact that a deep and long- 
seated attachment existed between the two, which 
would shortly result in matrimony.” 

“ My dear Ralph ! She must have been joking. 
That poor young fellow may be very well-meaning, 
but he is not even a gentleman.” 

“ Gentleman or not, they plainly desire to make 
up a match between him and Dorothy. There is 
no joking in the matter. You may guess, however, 
with what success they are likely to meet. I am 
almost glad the poor girl is to be condemned to 
isolation for a while. I can see that otherwise her 
life would be made a burden to her.” 

Mrs. Seymour looked both indignant and per- 
plexed. “I do not understand people and theii 


PLOT AND COUNTER- PLOT. 


129 


ways. How could they wish such a connection ? 
How could they think Dorothy would dream of it 
when ? ** 

Ralph interposed, saying with his peculiar smile — 

“ Whether they really think anything will come 
of it is quite an open question ; but meantime it 
suits them to assume that things are so, and to 
talk of Dorothy as a girl whose affections are 
engaged.” 

Mrs. Seymour looked into her son’s face. 

“ But you do not believe it, Ralph ? ” 

“ Believe what ? That her affections are en- 
gaged ? ” 

“To Mr. Harold Sopely?” 

“ No, mother, I candidly admit that I do not. 
I hatfe had the privilege of a good deal of intercourse 
with Dorothy of late, and I confess I have never 
detected the least symptom of an inward pining after 
the youth without two ideas in his head. He has 
paid her attentions, as I have observed — attentions 
by which she has been almost visibly bored. Her 
sisters must be just as well aware of this as I 
am.” 

“ But, my dear boy, if they were, they surely 
would not speak as they did ? ” 


130 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Ralph’s face was something of a study. 

“ My dear mother, is it possible that you do not 
see the game that the two elder Miss Templetons 
are playing ? ” 

“ I confess I do not, Ralph. My perceptions are 
not as acute as yours, you know.” 

“ Do not crush me with sarcasm, mother. It is 
not so much a lack of perception as a reluctance to 
see evil, an incapacity for attributing motives. The 
fact of the case is plainly this (you must spare my 
blushes as I announce it ; it is painful to my native 
modesty to have to speak out so unreservedly) : my 
good cousins Claudia and Mabel evidently think 
that the owner of Seymour Park would be a 
valuable prize from a matrimonial standpoint, could 
he be but caught by a judiciously thrown bait. 
But that the Cinderella of the family should catch 
the fish is against all the traditions of the family. 
Unluckily, however, the Cinderella has in this case 
made considerable running before they were awake 
to the valuable character of the quarry (the meta- 
phor is, I fear, becoming mixed, but I trust the 
meaning is clear), therefore, the best thing to be 
done under the circumstances is to get her quietly 
out of the way, and if possible, provided with a 


PLOT AND COUNTER- PLOT. 


131 


lover of her own, that shall put her out of the 
question altogether. Need I say more ? What 
those girls wish is to make me believe that Dorothy’s 
affections are already engaged ; and my part is to 
accept their assurances with courteous certainty, 
although I do not believe a word they say.” 

“ I am glad you do not believe it, Ralph. I 
only hope you may have somewhat misjudged the 
sisters — that they are self-deceived as well as 
deceiving. But why do you let them think that 
you believe such an absurd tale ? ” 

“ They would not believe it if they had the least 
perception, but courtesy demands that I should 
smile and wish all happiness to the lovers. My 
dear mother, the fact of the case is that I intend 
carrying out a secret plan of my own for the ultimate 
release of the captive ; and for this, a little diplo- 
macy and reticence will be necessary. You can be 
discreet, can you not, mother ? ” 

“I hope so, my boy. But I like open dealing best.” 

“I will not ask you to d# anything that is not 
open, nor, in fact, shall I do anything underhand 
myself ; but it is not necessary to unfold the whole 
of our plans to comparative strangers. We can 
allow them to develop gradually.” 


132 


doeothy’s vocation. 


“ What is the plan, Ralph ? ” 

“ So far as you are concerned, it is merely to 
invite Mr. Templeton and all his family to 
Seymour Park some time in September. Gain his 
consent quietly — it will not be difficult, with his 
easy-going disposition — and then, when his appro- 
bation has been gained, all we have to do is just 
to keep a discreet silence. What will happen will 
be this : the father and the two elder daughters 
will come, whilst Dorothy and her small charges 
will be left in some sea-side lodgings, to which 
they will doubtless be exiled as soon as quarantine 
is over. But that will be no matter. Armed with 
the father’s consent and approbation, we can 
soon swoop down and carry off the prey. Our 
rSle is only silence, and we are not people prone 
to talk of our affairs.” 

Meantime, Dorothy, shut up in complete 
isolation with her little sick charges, knew nothing 
of the plots and counter-plots of which she was 
the cause. She was face to face with anxious fears 
that drove all else from her mind ; and if she 
thought somewhat sorrowfully of the break in 
her pleasant intercourse with the Seymours, at 
least she never wished to swerve from her plain 


PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. 


133 


course of duty; and as for the matter of Mr. Sopely. 
it was as utterly driven from her mind as if it had 
never existed. In the days that followed she had 
other things to think of. 




CHAPTER X. 



SICK CHILDREN. 

TfOR one long, strange week Dorothy lived 
as in an indescribable shifting dream, in 
which day and night were inextricably 
mixed and blended, and nothing was 
clear save a very real anxiety, and the 
necessity for constant watchfulness. 

Wilfred was very ill indeed, the throat symptoms 
being so severe as to raise the gravest fears for his 
life. Winnie was quite sufficiently ill too, though 
never in danger ; and though the eldest and 
youngest had the fever more slightly, they were 
ailing enough to be very wretched and miserable ; 
and poor little Bemie fretted sadly whenever 
Dorothy was out of sight. 

As the three boys were all in the same room, 

and Dorothy’s anxiety for Wilfred kept her con- 
134 


SICK CHILDREN. 


135 


stantly at his bedside, Bernie was tolerably well 
satisfied ; but if ever he awoke to find her absent, 
his little wailing cry would always begin, and often 
she was called up from her much-needed rest 
by one of the worried nurses, because “ Master 
Bernie would keep crying and disturbing Master 
Wilfred.” 

So Dorothy had her hands full, and had no time 
or thought to spare for the great world without, of 
which she saw nothing, and heard so little. Yet 
there is something very sweet in the loving, clinging 
dependence of little children, and no attractions of 
any kind would have drawn the sister from her 
post. Her self-imposed charge was very sacred to 
her, and her heart yearned over the little mother- 
less things, who were left so utterly alone in their 
illness and danger, the father never doing more 
than sending a message of inquiry, and the sisters 
keeping away as if they had been stricken with the 
plague. 

Perhaps one of the saddest parts of it all was 
that the children never even asked for them, or 
seemed to remember the existence of anyone but 
Dorothy. Now and then they spoke of "Cousin 
Ralph,” and wondered if he would ever come to sec 


136 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


them again ; but of father or other sisters they 
never seemed to think, and probably their presence 
beside them would only have caused distress or 
fear. 

For a whole long ten days Dorothy saw no 
one from the outside world, except the doctor, 
and she felt as if living in a world alone, for- 
gotten by everyone, and isolated by the force 
of circumstances almost as completely as if she 
and her little charges were stranded on a desert 
island. 

She did not in the least resent the total 
desertion of all her friends ; she knew it was 
best that strict quarantine should be observed, 
and she knew that Claudia’s orders would be very 
stringently enforced. No one would be admitted 
even if they desired it, and who would desire 
such a thing? 

Sometimes — often, indeed — her thoughts would 
turn towards the Seymours, and a longing she could 
not altogether check would rise up in her heart to 
see them once again ; but she well knew that they, 
of all people, would be hindered if possible from 
obtaining access to the nurseries, and she tried to 
laugh at herself for the foolish hope she entertained 


SICK CHILDREN. 


137 


at first that they might try to come. Why should 
they ? Of course it was an understood thing that 
people going about in society should keep away 
from infectious illness. It was weak and foolish to 
dream of such a thing. Yet Dorothy knew that in 
her heart of hearts lingered a sense of disappoint- 
ment, when day after day passed without bringing 
any sign from them ; and when the pressing anxiety 
for the children had passed, and there was a little 
more leisure for thought and for the sense of lone- 
liness also, the girl became conscious of a little 
depression of spirit that did not altogether owe its 
rise to physical weariness or the strain of nursing ; 
and though she blamed herself for it, and tried to 
argue it away, she found it quite impervious to any 
arguments of her devising. 

But a surprise was in store for her which did 
more than make up for any previous sense of sorrow 
or desertion. She was reading a story-book to her 
little charges one afternoon, and as she had her 
back to the door she had not observed how it 
had been noiselessly opened, when a sudden, 
simultaneous cry of delight broke from all the 
children, causing her to look round in quick 
surprise. 


138 


DOROTHY'S VOCATION. 


“ Cousin Ralph ! Cousin Ralph ! ” shouted Bertie 
and Bernie, and Wilfred’s eyes sparkled as they had 
not done for many long, weary days. Winnie, who 
was lying on the sofa well wrapped in dressing- 
gown and blanket, held out her arms with a little 
shriek of joy, and Dorothy felt as if sunshine and a 
breath of fresh air had suddenly penetrated into 
that shut-up room. 

“Ralph!” she exclaimed, in glad surprise, “how 
good of you ! but do you think you ought?” 

“ Ought what ? ” he asked smilingly, taking her 
hand in his, and holding it as he looked down at 
her with the pleasant, subdued smile in his clear 
grey eyes. 

“Ought to be here — in our fever hospital — 
exposing yourself to infection, and the danger of 
spreading it ? ” 

He laughed lightly. 

“ I shan’t spread it any more than a doctor. — 
No, you monkeys, I ’m not going to carry you about 
to-day. You must be content with the supreme 
pleasure of looking at anything quite so beautiful. 
I ’m for ornament, not use, this time. How are 
you getting on? Why Willie, boy, you look as 
if you ought to be hired out to a farmer as a 


SICK CHILDREN. 


141 


scarecrow ! What ’s Dorothy been doing to you, 
eh?" 

“ Poor little chap, he can hardly speak yet. 
He has had a fearful throat," answered Dorothy 
softly, as she smoothed back the child’s fair hair; 
“ but we are getting on famously now, aren’t we, 
Wilfred?" 

He glanced up and smiled, and said “ Yes ’’ in a 
hoarse whisper. Ralph’s face, as he looked down 
at the boy, was very pleasant, Dorothy thought — so 
strong and manly, yet so very kind and gentle too. 
He talked a little while to the children, evoking a 
great deal of laughter, and bringing smiles and 
colour into the little wan faces such as had not been 
seen there for many days. It was so delightful to 
see a “ new person ” after being shut up so long ; 
and then Cousin Ralph was such a favourite, it was 
no wonder his visit was enjoyed. He had not com.? 
empty-handed either. He had brought a big box 
of toys and books, and though Dorothy said it was 
almost a pity to bring them to little people who 
would only make them infectious, he laughed and 
said that they could go to the fever hospital 
afterwards, where they would be very warmly 
welcomed by other little patients. 


142 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Poor little things ! they will want amusement 
badly enough these next weeks;” said Ralph, leaning 
back against the window shutter, and looking with 
quiet scrutiny at Dorothy, who stood beside him. 
The children were engrossed in the examination of 
their new treasures, and for the time being in no 
need of attention from their elders. “ How are you 
getting along yourself, shut up here all your time ? 
And why do you isolate yourself so utterly from all 
the world ? ” 

“ It is better to do so, under the circumstances/’ 
answered Dorothy. “ I ’m not sure that I ought 
to let you be here. I can’t think how you got 
in.” 

“Why, up the back stairs, to be sure, like other 
people. Where there ’s a will there ’s a way. I 
was determined I ’d find out why you never 
auswered my mother’s letters.” 

“ Letters ! ” repeated Dorothy, in amazement. 
She had not received one from Mrs. Seymour all 
these days. Yet she did not say so ; some instinct 
of loyalty to her foolish, treacherous sisters, who had 
evidently withheld them, kept her silent. She, 
instead, said something about things having been 
confused and disorganised, and her own press of 


SICK CHILDREN. 


143 


duties. But Balph was one of those half-conven- 
ient half-tiresome people, who never require things 
to be explained. He grasped the situation at once, 
passed it over in silence, but proceeded to enlighten 
Dorothy as to what had happened during the 
preceding days. 

“ The day but one after I called here last, and 
did not see you, we were obliged to leave town on 
business, and only got back yesterday. My mother 
wrote to tell you this, as she thought you would 
otherwise be expecting to see her ; she wrote once 
or twice, and told you not to be afraid of sending a 
letter to her. We are not at all afraid of infection, 
and paper can be properly disinfected, as you know, 
before it is sent away. As we heard nothing, I 
decided to come and look you up ; as you say, a 
house with illness in it is always more or less 
disorganised. I thought there might have been 
some mistake. It seems to me I have not come too 
soon. You look fagged to death, Dorothy. It is 
high time somebody took you in hand. My mother 
wishes me to say that she expects you to drive 
with her every day for the future, from five to 
six o’clock, beginning from to-day. The carriage 
will wait for you at the corner of Carlington 


144 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Street, and we know that you can be trusted to 
be punctual.” 

Dorothy’s face flushed. After being shut up in 
the sick-rooms for all these long days, the thought 
of tasting the fresh air again, and of seeing the face 
of her kind friend, and getting the chance for a 
little quiet talk, was infinitely refreshing ; but she 
hesitated 

“Do you think I ought? Would it be right of 
me to drive — about infection I mean ? ” 

“ You can change all your clothes first — keep 
a special driving suit ; and as it ’s my mother’s 
own carriage, I suppose she is the person to 
settle what risks she likes to run. She will be 
careful enough — you need not be afraid ; but 
fresh air you must have, and after all your day’s 
work up here, you will not be disposed for much 
walking. You had better do as you are told, 
Dorothy.” 

Dorothy wished for nothing better, as her face 
plainly showed. 

“ If the children will only spare me.” 

“ They must jspare you — I will reason with the 
little monsters. It’s nearly time we were off. 
Just you go and change your dress, and I ’ll explain 


SICK CHILDREN. 


145 


matters to these small tyrants, and I ’ll take you to 
my mother.” 

Dorothy had only one more objection. 

“ What would Claudia say ? ” 

“ Claudia has nothing to do with it. Her fear 
of infection keeps you in an exaggerated state of 
isolation. It is impossible things should go on like 
this. Who cares for Claudia ? She will not dare 
to face you ; and if she tackles me or my mother, 
I think — yes, I really do think — that we may 
possibly be able to hold our own.” 

Dorothy could not help laughing as she ran 
away, her heart beating with a joyful sense of 
happiness and relief. It was such a comfort to 
have someone to talk to again, someone to whom to 
confide her anxieties, and from whom she could ask 
counsel in those numberless little matters that 
arise in the management of sick children, and that 
are so well understood by a mother. 

Mrs. Seymour listened with the greatest interest 
to Dorothy’s account of the past ten days. It was 
very plain that the strain upon the girl had been 
somewhat severe, at any rate during the first days,* 
and the tears stood in her eyes as she told of little 

Wilfred’s suffering and danger, and the two long 

K 


146 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


terrible nights when it was one hard battle the 
whole time to keep him alive. 

“ And you were alone all that time, dear ? ” 
asked Mrs. Seymour. “ Did nobody come near you 
to help you ? ” 

“ There were the nurses, you know ; and the 
doctor was very kind. He or his assistant came 
every few hours ; but Wilfred cried so if I left 
him ; besides, I couldn’t : I was too anxious. 
Poor child ! it was so terrible to see him like that. 
I ’m afraid it will be a long time before he gets up 
his strength again.” 

Mrs. Seymour’s sympathy and interest were very 
comforting. Ralph was a silent but attentive 
listener to all that passed. 

“ Were you not very lonely, shut up there all 
day, my dear ? Did it not seem hard to be 
debarred from all the pleasures that must always 
be somewhat engrossing to young people at your 
age? Did you never regret the choice you had 
made ? ” 

“Oh no; you see, they wanted me, poor little 
things. They have no mother, and they depend 
on me. I could not have enjoyed anything whilst 
they were so ill ; and you know when one is with 


SICK CHILDREN. 


147 


sick people, and especially when there is danger too, 
it is difficult to think of anything else. The things 
that seem pleasant and important at other times 
look so small then. Other thoughts come at such 
times, and put out everything else. Do you know 
what I mean ? ” 

Mrs. Seymour took and pressed Dorothy’s hand 
in token of sympathy; tears stood in the girl’s 
eyes, but her voice was quite steady. 

“I could not help wondering if I had taught 
the children right — taught them what would help 
them through the dark valley, if they were called 
to go. They have nobody else, and I have tried ; 
but I often think I am too young or too ignorant 
to teach them as I should. I think dear little 
Wilfred was ready. He has always been such a 
good, gentle child ; and when we all thought he 
could not live, and he could hardly whisper even, 
he was so exhausted and his throat so bad, he just 
managed to say, 'Pray, Dolly; pray,’ and he 
folded his hands together, and his lips seemed to 
follow what I said. But I wish I were better 
myself — more fit to teach them, and a better 
example for them. I do hope they will grow 
up as their mother would have wished. She 


148 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


was such a sweet, good mother to us all till 
she died.” 

“ I think, Ralph,” said Mrs. Seymour that night 
to her son, “ that if you can win our dear Dorothy 
for your wife, you will be a very fortunate man.” 

“ I am quite of your opinion, mother,” was the 
quiet reply. 






CHAPTER XI 

THE SISTERS. 

the month of July ran its regular course, 
Claudia and Mabel began to congratulate 
themselves upon the way matters were 
turning out, and to feel that prosperity 
was smiling once more upon them. 

Dorothy was safely out of the way, shut up 
in the third storey in complete isolation. The 
children were progressing favourably — so favour- 
ably that not even the most conscientiously dis- 
posed person could cast a reflection upon them for 
not offering assistance in the nursing ; yet that 
most convenient of all barriers, infection, drew its 
magic circle round Dorothy and her little charges, 
nnd there was not the smallest danger, so said 
the sisters, that the isolation of her position would 

be invaded. And as soon as ever the move could 

149 



150 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


be accomplished without risk, the whole of the 
nursery establishment, with Dorothy at its head, 
would be packed off to some out-of-the-way sea- 
side place, there to remain until the city house 
was opened again to receive its inhabitants. Mr. 
Templeton and his elder daughters would mean- 
time pay a round of visits, or amuse themselves 
at fashionable health resorts ; and they were quite 
determined during these months not to lose sight 
of their newly found friends and kinsfolk, the 
Seymours. 

Claudia was very well satisfied with the state of 
affairs as regarded the Seymours, now that Dorothy 
was safely disposed of. She met Ralph often, and 
watched him closely, and there was certainly no 
other girl to whom he paid any marked attention. 
Indeed, she flattered herself that it was to her, or 
to Mabel, that the greater part of his conversation 
was addressed. Mrs. Seymour, too, responded to 
their many advances with quiet friendliness that 
almost amounted to cordiality, and since the first 
few days, no more letters had come from her to 
Dorothy. Claudia had felt a few qualms at sup- 
pressing these letters ; but she was very anxious to 
bieak off all communication between the Seymours 


THE SISTERS. 


151 


and their acknowledged favourite, and she was 
foolish enough to believe that she could play such 
a trick with impunity. Of course if inquiries ever 
were made, people would fancy it was an oversight 
that the letters did not reach Dorothy. There is 
always confusion and blundering at a time when 
there is serious illness in a house, and servants are 
prone to acts of neglect or forgetfulness. It was a 
source of some triumph, both to Claudia and Mabel, 
how very few questions were asked by these cousins 
with regard to Dorothy and her little charges — 
only just the regular conventional inquiries that 
everybody made : nothing of a special nature. It 
was certainly “ out of sight out of mind ” with 
them, and Mabel laughed in open triumph. She 
was playing a game of her own as well as Claudia, 
and the aim of each was to try and secure the hand 
of the wealthy cousin for herself. Ralph was so 
strictly impartial in his attentions that it w T as 
difficult to say which sister had the better chance, 
but Claudia did not even recognise Mabel as a 
rival, being placidly certain of the power of her 
own charms, whilst Mabel secretly laughed at her 
sister’s pretentions, feeling quite positive that her 
lofty airs of superiority, and the statuesque style 


152 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


of beauty she affected, would be little to the liking 
of the lazy Ralph, who would be certain to want 
more animation — as indeed had been evinced by 
his admiration for Dorothy, transitory as this had 
been. 

Mabel was nothing if not animated, and she had 
acquired the faculty of saying smart things in a 
sharp, ready fashion that she found decidedly 
telling with the young men of her acquaintance. 
She often had quite a little group round her, 
listening to her sarcastic comments on the people 
about her, and it did not occur to her that though 
people might laugh at a gift of wit which enabled 
its owner to ridicule everybody and everything in 
an amusing if somewhat flimsy fashion, yet it 
hardly put her own character in an amiable light, 
or encouraged observers in the wish to become 
more closely acquainted. 

With Ralph she very soon began this kind of 
would-be brilliant talk, thinking, from the slightly 
sarcastic comments she often heard from his lips, 
that he, at any rate, would appreciate and like it. 
Possibly he appreciated it at a truer value than she 
would altogether have cared about; but his indo- 
lent manner encouraged her to proceed, and it was 


THE SISTERS. 


153 


always pleasant to get a listener who never seemed 
eager to take his share of the conversation, but 
was willing to leave it all to her. Mabel loved 
the sound of her own voice, and was never weary 
of talking to Ralph, especially when she thought 
that their interviews were being observed by 
others. 

When some little time had passed by, and she 
felt the ground somewhat safer under her feet, she 
wondered if it might not be a good plan to turn 
Dorothy into ridicule for the benefit of her quon- 
dam admirer. Mabel had seen enough of the 
world to be aware that a cooling or passing admi- 
ration very soon changes into something approaching 
dislike. No doubt Ralph was half ashamed already 
of his former attentions to the younger sister, and 
if so, he would be quite ready to join in the laugh 
against her. 

So Mabel broke ground cautiously at first, but 
becoming emboldened by a certain undefinable in- 
terest in his manner, she went on more fluently, 
laughing over Dorothy’s grand aspirations after a 
vocation, and making merry at her expense in a 
variety of ways. 

“ People with grand ideas generally do have to 


154 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


come down in the world,” remarked Ralph on one 
of the occasions on which Mabel was entertaining 
him with reminiscences of Dorothy’s “ follies.” 
“ The question remains whether it is better to aim 
high, content to fail and take the lower place, or to 
be satisfied always with so low a level that idealism 
itself cannot raise one from it.” 

But Mabel never troubled herself to follow her 
companion’s train of thought. 

“ It is such fun to hear Dorothy talk sometimes; 
but I daresay you have found that out for yourself. 
One would think she was going to do such wonder- 
ful things — set the river on fire, at the very 
least. And then, when all is said and done, what 
does it all come to ? ” 

“ Why, not much, does it ? Only a few weeks of 
complete and entire self-sacrifice. In a beautiful, 
noble, generous world like the one we live in, such 
things are a mere matter of course — hardly worth 
considering — not, at least, by people like you and 
me.” 

Mabel felt for a moment rather as if she had 
received a slap in the face; but the last words, 
coupling her name with Ralph’s, brought back a 
measure of self-satisfaction. 


THE SISTERS. 


155 


•* Oh, Dorothy is a very well-meaning little thing 
indeed. I would not for worlds say a word in her 
disfavour. She is always pleased to have some 
good work on hand; and really she is so fond of 
those children that it is no sacrifice for her to be 
with them. Dorothy is not much more than a 
child herself; she always has preferred the nursery 
to the drawing-room. I believe in her heart of 
hearts she is quite pleased at being spared the neces- 
sity for going out, and having the right to spend 
all her time upstairs, reading story-books and play- 
ing with the children — really and truly I do. At 
least, I should be sure of it if it were not for poor 
Mr. Harold Sopely.” 

“ Sick and convalescent children are not gener- 
ally considered the most attractive companions — 
sole and only companions, at any rate. They 
are apt to be cross and snappish, and the society 
of any four people palls sometimes when there 
is never any change ; but then Dorothy, as we 
know, is peculiar. Perhaps she likes it. How 
does she manage to get air and exercise ? Does 
she never leave the house ? ” 

Mabel looked a little confused. 

“ Really I don’t know what Dorothy’s private 


156 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


arrangements are ; but she is very well able, I am 
sure, to take care of herself — she always was. 
She generally manages to do anything she wants 
to do, and I don’t suppose the art will have 
deserted her at this juncture. I daresay, if the 
truth were known, she is having a very fine time 
up there.” 

“ I should think there could not be a doubt 
of it,” answered Ralph ; but something in his 
voice and in the look upon his face made Mabel 
quickly change the subject, she hardly knew why. 

But if she was a little disconcerted at the 
result of this conversation (though she hardly 
understood how it was that she did feel disturbed 
by it), at least she was soon restored to compla- 
cency by the piece of intelligence that Claudia 
had gleaned from their father. 

“ Do you know, Mabel, Mrs. Seymour has 
invited all of us down to her house in Septem- 
ber ? There are to be a few friends of Ralph’s 
there, and she wants to get up a pleasant house 
party to meet them. Could anything be better ? 
A whole fortnight, and perhaps more, at Seymour 
Hall ! It shows the way the wind is settling, 
I think ; ” and Claudia looked very well satisfied. 


THE SISTERS. 


157 


" Is Dorothy asked too ?” 

“ We are all asked — the whole family; and 
of course father accepted — even the children are 
included ; it was a regular family invitation. It 
was much better to accept it quietly like that ; 
but of course we shall not say a word to Dorothy 
about it ; and when the time comes, she and the 
children will just stay where they are, and we 
shall arrive without them. It will be easy to 
make excuses, and every hostess would be relieved 
to be rid of so large a party from one family, 
especially with a 'lot of delicate children. Things 
could not be turning out better ; and it is plain 
the Seymours like us very much, or they would 
not ask us down like that. The house and pro- 
perty belong to Ralph, though Mrs. Seymour does 
live with him ; and the invitation must of course 
be really his. It shows very clearly that he is 
anxious to prosecute the friendship. He does 
not wish to lose sight of us.” 

Mabel was delighted at the prospect. She 
felt quite certain of outshining Claudia in country 
life, whatever doubt there might be of her doing 
so in a drawing-room. She rode better, walked 
better, played a far stronger game of tennis. Her 


158 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


vivacity arid energy would have more scope, and 
sire would be able to shine with brightei lustre. 

It was just as well for their peace of mind 
that they did not hear the colloquy taking place 
at that very time between Ralph and his mother. 

“ You asked them all, then, did you ? There 
was no difficulty made, I suppose ? ” 

“ No, none at all. I am aware we should both 
have preferred asking only* dear Dorothy and the 
iittle ones; but, of course, we must study other 
people’s feelings. Harold Templeton is my cousin 
and Dorothy’s father, and I shall be pleased to 
welcome him as a guest ; and as for dear Dorothy 
and those poor little mites, when we have once 
got them we will not let them go in a hurry. 
But the elder girls must come with their father, 
as a matter of propriety. They need not be much 
in your way. There will be other people in the 
house ; and they are fond of society.” 

Ralph’s face wore one of its inscrutable expres- 
sions. 

“ He consented to bring the whole train with 
him ?” 

“ Oh yes ; he did hesitate, but merely conven- 
tionally, and I insisted.” 


THE STSTERS. 


159 


" They will leave Dorothy behind if they can,” 
said Ralph. “ They talk of her in a way that 
makes my blood boil. You can see their game 
now.” 

“ I have seen something — I know what you 
think,” answered gentle Mrs. Seymour ; “ but I 
have tried to believe it a mistake.” 

“ I am sure you have — it is like you to do so. 
Perhaps if I prove right in this also, you will be 
convinced.” 

“ What do you think they will do ? ” 

“ Pack Dorothy and the children off to some 
outlandish sea-side place, and then arrive without 
them — as I said from the first.” 

“ That would hardly be polite.” 

“ Possibly not ; but it is what will be done.” 

“ It must not be allowed. You have said that 
too.” 

“ I do not intend to allow it ! ” 

Ralph’s face was stamped again with its look 
of invincible resolution. He had a way of setting 
his features as if they were carved in flint. 

‘‘No, I do not think you will allow it,” said 
his mother, with a little smile. She was proud 
of this resolute boy of hers. She was not sorry 


160 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


sometimes to see obstacles arise in his path. 
His masterful way of sweeping them all before 
him gave her such a keen sense of pleasure. 

“ These poor children, too — I quite long to 
have them under our roof; but a blow of sea-air 
first will do them most good of all, and August 
is a capital sea-side month. When the days 
begin to draw in, and they have got back some 
of their strength again, they will enjoy the life 
in our disused nurseries all the more. I shall 
not let them go in a hurry ; I shall talk to 
Harold about it. I believe a winter spent in 
the country would make new creatures of them.” 

“ Well, keep them as long as you please, 
mother — the longer the better. We shall prove 
rather dangerous people to Mr. Templeton at this 
rate, if you rob him of his four little children, 
and I of one of his daughters ! ” 

Mrs. Seymour smiled, and then reverted to the 
first topic. 

“ Are you confident of getting Dorothy to come, 
if her people are set against it ? She may feel it 
her duty to stay where they sent her.” 

“ I think that difficulty can be got over,” answered 
Ralph coolly. 


THE SISTERS. 


161 


“ It is not as if we had any authority ■'* 

But for once in his life Ralph cut his mother 
short. 

“ Pardon me, my dear mother, for contradicting 
you there ; but by the time this anticipated capture 
takes place, I flatter myself that I shall have some 
authority over Dorothy.” 



% 



CHAPTER XII 



A RIVER-SIDE PARTY. 

\ OU here, Ralph ! ” cried Mabel. 

[(«$* “ Even I, fair cousin. Is it such a 

great shock to your feelings ? ” 

“ Dreadful ! — I don’t know how to get 
over it. Are you going to stay long ? ” 

“ Ten more days, I fear. There will be no 
escaping me, you see. You did not bargain for 
such an infliction when you accepted Mrs. Castle- 
ford’s invitation.” 

Mabel’s eyes were dancing with pleasurable 
excitement. She knew very well that Ralph and 
his mother were guests at this pleasant house 
beside the river ; indeed, the sisters had 
manoeuvred somewhat diligently for an invitation 
on that very account ; but it pleased her humour 

to affect an astonishment she did not feel and 
162 


A RIVER- SIDE PARTY. 


16 K 

she did not know that Ralph saw through the 
affectation. 

“We are here for ten days or a fortnight our- 
selves. I call this a perfectly charming house, 
though I have never stayed in it before. Ralph, I 
am going to demand a solemn promise from you. 
I have set my heart upon a certain thing : you are 
to assist me in the realisation of my dream. Will 
you be a perfect angel, and do as I ask ? ” 

“ I do not wish my wings to grow prematurely, 
I doubt if they would altogether suit my style of 
beauty; but if you will tell me what you want, 
I will see what can be done. I don’t know that 
I am a very good hand at the realisation of lofty 
ideals.” 

“Well, mine is not anything so very sublime, 
after all. I have set my heart on learning to row.” 

“ On learning to row, have you ? ” 

“ Yes, I have indeed. You see, I can ride, and I 
can skate, and I can play tennis, and do a variety of 
things like that ; and I enjoy them all immensely ; 
but I can’t row. I have never had the chance of 
learning ; and I should so like to add that art to 
the list of my accomplishments. Will you teach 
me, Ralph V* 


164 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ With all the pleasure in the world. I love to 
take my ease in a boat. You shall do all the 
work, and I shall have all the pleasure.” 

Mabel ran indoors to dress for dinner with a face 
beaming with complaisant satisfaction. She felt 
convinced that during the next week at least she 
was going to have a very good time. 

The very next day she claimed Ralph’s promise, 
and he showed no disposition to shirk. There were 
always plenty of boats about on the shining reach 
of river before Mrs. Castleford’s smooth lawns 
and brilliant flower-beds. They found a boat 
suited to their purpose, and pushed out into the 
flotilla. 

Mabel was not so utterly ignorant of the art of 
rowing as she professed to be. She managed to 
avoid the hopeless ungainliness that characterises 
the first attempts of the real beginner, and she had 
thought and attention to spare for other matters 
than her sculls. She thought her cousin looked 
very handsome in his white flannels, as he lounged 
back against the dark blue cushions in the boat’s 
stern, and gave his advice and directions in his 
lazy, half-humorous way. The girl was prettily 
dressed herself, and looked her best. She won- 


A RIVER-SIDE PARTY. 


165 


dered if by chance he admired her as much as she 
admired him ; but it was not likely that he would 
betray himself if he did. 

He complimented her in gently ironical fashion 
upon her proficiency in the new accomplishment, to 
which she seemed to take as easily as a duck to the 
water, and Mabel did not detect the irony, and was 
greatly delighted with her lesson, and only wished 
he would have kept upon the pleasant subject of 
self the whole time. But Ralph’s patience had its 
limit, and at last he broached another subject. 

“ And where is Dorothy all this while ? ” 

“ Oh, down at Shag’s Bay with the children — 
having a halcyon time of it, I believe.” 

“ Shag’s Bay. I know that little place slightly. 
It is very pretty, but fearfully out of the world.” 

“Yes, that’s just why Dorothy likes it so much. 
She cannot endure fashionable watering-places. 
She loves to bury herself with the children right 
away in some lonely, out-of-the way spot. She is 
not much more than a child herself, you see.” 

“So they will dig in the sand together, and 
paddle and play at horses all day long, and never 
feel the need of any society except their own.” 

“ That is about it. Dorothy is almost as much 


1 66 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


of a baby as Winnie, when she can throw off the 
yoke of custom and fashion.” 

“ I almost wonder you are all so easy in your 
minds to leave such a crew of babies to shift for 
themselves. Generally it is thought necessary to 
send one wise head on such an expedition.” 

“ Oh, there is nurse with them — a most expe- 
rienced woman ; and Dorothy has plenty of sense, 
even though she is childish in many things.” 

“ And the children are better ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, quite well ; only, as there has been 
infection, it is better for them to go to a very 
quiet place, where they are not likely to see 
a soul.” 

“ And how long will they stay there ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; Claudia and Dorothy will 
arrange all that. If Dorothy had her own way, 
I believe she would never come back at all.” 

“ What a curious taste she must have ! ” 
“Dorothy always was curious — not in the least 
like us.” 

“So it seems. You would not care to bury your- 
self for an indefinite period in an outlandish place, 
where there was not a soul to speak to ? ” 

“ No ; I should hate it,” was the laughing 


A RIVER-SIDE PARTY. 


167 


4 

answer. “ I like society, and always did. I never 
professed to be an eccentric, like Dorothy.” 

“ She must be peculiarly eccentric, especially for 
one of her apparently sociable temperament. One 
would quite have fancied society congenial to her, 
if not an essential element .of life, and have said 
that she would hardly have cared for a prolonged 
exile in absolute solitude, especially after a period 
of previous insolation.” 

“ She has the children,” said Mabel quickly. 

“ Ah ! true. She has the children.” 

Then there was silence ; and Mabel was conscious 
of feeling a considerable access of irritation and 
disappointment. It was not at what Ralph said 
that she inwardly chafed, but the attitude of 
his mind as implied rather than expressed. Rally- 
ing her courage, however, and casting about in her 
mind for some defence to make that should not 
sound too much like a defence, she hit upon a 
happy excuse that she thought would serve her 
purpose well. 

She looked at Ralph with a sort of arch serious- 
ness, and laid a finger on her lips. 

“ I wonder if you could keep a secret ? ” 

“ I should not like to promise.” 


1 


DOROTHY’S VOCATION. 


“ Well, after all, I don’t know if it is such a 
great secret — at any rate, I don’t suppose it 
will be one long ; but if you are anxious about 
Dorothy, and think her likely to pine away in 
neglected solitude, I think you are troubling your- 
self without a cause.” 

“ I had not pictured the pining process with any 
great vividness.” 

“I don’t know' anything,” pursued Mabel, with 
an air of complaisant mystery. “ You must not think 
I am betraying secrets. Nobody has said anything, 
but somehow I do not fancy that Dorothy’s solitude 
will be very long uninvaded.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! ” 

“We have had a good many rather marked and 
pressing inquiries as to her destination ; and this is 
a free country, and there is a little hotel at Shag’s 
Bay, remote as the place is. Other people like 
solitude too, sometimes. I fancy we shall hear that 
a certain Mr. Harold — well, never mind the rest 
— has taken a violent liking for retirement.” 

A curious smile flickered over Ralph’s face. His 
sleepy eyes were fixed with an almost disconcerting 
penetration upon his companion’s face. 

“ Ah, indeed ! I heard something of that before 


A RIVER-SIDE PARTY. 


169 


—just a whispered rumour. How is the little 
romance progressing ? ” 

“ It got rather checked, of course, by Dorothy’s 
isolation ; but you know what the song says about 
absence making the heart grow fonder. I really 
think it often does.” 

“ I am sure of it,” said Ralph. 

“ So in that case, you see, it will be strange if 
we do not hear a piece of news one of these 
days.” 

“ You think Dorothy favours this admirer, then?” 

Mabel laughed, shook her bead, and closed her 
lips tightly. 

“ I am not going to betray Dorothy’s confidence 
to anybody,” she said, “ least of all to a sarcastic 
creature like you. What would you say to any 
girl who had betrayed herself before the magic 
question had been put ? ” 

“ That would have to depend upon circumstances. 
Generally, I admit that such conduct is somewhat 
harshly criticised.” 

Mabel stopped suddenly. She became aware that 
she was treading somewhat dangerous ground. She 
was not altogether sorry when the voyage came to 
an end. It had begun prosperously enough, but 


170 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


somehow things had not turned out quite to her 
liking towards the end. She had an uneasy feeling 
that to try and hoodwink Ralph Seymour partook 
of the nature of playing with edge-tools, which is 
proverbially disastrous. 

If only, however, the subject of Dorothy could be 
avoided, and those tiresome children, whom people 
would pity and inquire for (and when talk of this 
kind went on, the elder sisters often felt as if their 
conduct might be secretly criticised), be permitted 
to drop into oblivion and obscurity, there was no 
reason why all should not be plain sailing still. At 
ordinary times Ralph could be pleasant enough ; he 
paid a proper amount of cousinly attention to both 
sisters, took Claudia in to dinner the first night, 
and afterwards instructed Mabel in the mysteries of 
sundry games. He could not be said to be marked 
in his attentions, which were of an impersonal and 
ordinary kind enough, but it pleased the sisters 
immensely, and raised their hopes and aspirations 
to a high pitch. 

Mrs. Castleford’s was a house where there was 
always something going on of an amusing and 
enlivening character. To-night an expedition by 
,’oad and river to an old abbey some ten miles away 


▲ RIVER-SIDE PARTY. 


171 


was under eager discussion. The weather was 
delightful for out-of-door pleasure parties, warm 
and genial, without oppressive heat, with frequent 
showers to lay the dust, without interfering in any 
objectionable way with pleasure parties. 

“No time like the present,” was a favourite 
motto of the hospitable hostess, and accordingly, 
next day was fixed for the picnic. Some of the 
party were to drive, some to ride, and others to 
go by boat. Most of the younger portion of the 
company decided in favour of the boats. It was 
a little warm for riding, and the carriages were 
voted dull. 

Mabel elected to ride, for she had fancied she 
had heard Ralph say he should go on horseback. 
She thought he would not care for the exertion of 
rowing ten miles up stream, as he would be doomed 
to do when there were so many ladies to be trans- 
ported. But to her great annoyance on descending 
next morning to breakfast, she saw by bis white 
flannels that he meant to join the water party. 
She, however, was dressed for the saddle, and could 
not make any change now. She hoped to make up 
for lost time later in the day ; after all, she might 
not have succeeded in getting into the same boat as 


172 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Ralph, in which case she would not be any worse 
off than she was at present. 

Her cousin came to her side to assist her to 
mount ; and when, with a sudden impulse of good- 
nature, she exclaimed, “ I wish poor Dorothy could 
have been with us to-day,” he gave her a glance 
that made her heart quite glow for a moment. 

Softer, pleasanter, and more generous feelings 
began to stir in Mabel’s heart as she rode along 
that bright summer’s day. She began to have a 
perception that there had been a lack in her life all 
this time. She felt a little ashamed of some of her 
past thoughts and feelings, and wondered if, after 
all, this determined pursuit of her cousin was either 
well-judged or likely to be successful. Might not 
Ralph be really a pleasanter companion as cousin, 
or even brother, than in a nearer relation still ? 
And was he a man likely to be “ caught,” as the 
saying goes, by a woman’s clever artifice ? Mabel 
was vain and shallow, and spoiled by over-indul- 
gence and a want of wise control in her earlier 
years, but she was not altogether bad -hearted. If 
once her better nature, usually so dormant, could be 
thoroughly awakened, it was possible that she might 
develop into a character altogether different from 


A RIVER-SIDE PARTY. 


173 


her past self. She thought of Ralph’s last glance 
at her, and a new idea came into her head. 

“ I don’t believe he ’ll ever care two straws for 
me for my own sake. I ’m almost sure he ’s half 
in love with Dorothy ; but if I talk to him of her, 
and put a stop to all that humbug about Harold 
Sopely, perhaps he ’ll begin to like me for my own 
sake, and that would be a great gain, for I should 
like to be friends, if we can be nothing else. I 
mustn’t say a word of this to Claudia, however ; 
she would call it all folly, and make me change my 
mind. But, really, if he won’t marry me (and I 
don’t believe he will), I ’d as soon he bad Dorothy 
as anybody. She ’s a good little soul, and though 
I know I should be jealous of her at first, I suppose 
I should get used to the idea of her elevation ; and 
she never bears malice.” 

Engrossed in reflections such as these, half selfish, 
half good-natured, Mabel was more silent than was 
her wont ; but she made up for that at the picnic 
itself by an unusual brightness and animation. 

“ Ralph,” she said, as they rose from the repast, 
" I ’ye got a letter in my pocket that I think will 
interest you. I ’ve not had time to read it yet. It’s 
from Dorothy.” 


174 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Shall I row you out on the river where you 
can enjoy it in solitude ? ” asked Ralph, a subdued 
smile in his sleepy eyes. 

“ That would be capital. Then you shall share 
it, if the contents are not of too private a nature.” 

“ Too much engrossed in raptures over Mr. 
Harold Sopely,” added Ralph, with great gravity. 

She looked at him, laughing and flushing. 

“ Exactly so. I will spare you the raptures of 
that description.” 

They stepped into a small sculling-boat, and 
Ralph turned its head leisurely down stream. 
There were long reaches of shining water before 
them as they floated placidly along. It was a 
sleepy sort of day ; a haze hung over the river, 
tempering the heat of the sun. Mabel opened her 
letter and looked it through, Ralph watching her 
with a covert interest in his eyes, that in anyone 
else would have been eagerness. When she had 
glanced through the four pages, she looked up with 
a smile at him, and asked : 

“ Do you want to hear it ? ” 

And he answered briefly, “ Yes. w 

So Mabel began to read the cheerful letter that 
seemed to breathe Dorothy’s epirit in every line. 


A RIVER-SIDE PARTY. 


175 


So engrossed were the pair in their occupation that 
they ceased to pay any heed to their position, and 
were only aroused from their abstraction by the 
sound of a vigorous shout of warning. 

Looking quickly round, and aware of the rushing 
and roaring sound of water in their ears, they saw 
in a moment their peril. The boat had drifted 
into the weir channel whilst they were otherwise 
occupied, and now was being rapidly sucked down 
towards the head of the fall. 




CHAPTER XIII. 



AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT. 

one second Ralph had grasped the sit- 
^ uation and the imminence of the peril. 
His presence of mind did not desert 
him, though that alone was insufficient to 
avert the coming danger. It was impos- 
sible to back the boat up-stream in the teeth of 
that rapid current, and to attempt to turn, and so 
present a broadside to the volume of water, would 
be to court instant shipwreck. He saw all this in 
a moment. 

“ There is only one thing to be done, Mabel,” he 
said ; “ we must try to shoot the fall. Keep the 
boat’s head steady, and aim for the spot where 
there seem fewest impediments. This is one of the 
few open weirs on the river. There is just a 

chance we may do it. Can you swim ? ” 

176 


AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT. 177 

“No, hardly at all. I could not swim in my 
habit, any way.” 

“ True. Then take an oar.” (There were oars 
in the boat, luckily, as well as sculls.) “ Yes, take 
it, and have it close at hand. If we ovei ' urn at 
the bottom, as is almost sure to happen, let go the 
tiller-ropes and seize the oar. Don’t let go, what- 
ever else you do. It will keep you afloat, and I will 
pull you ashore.” 

“Very well,” said Mabel, who was very pale, 
though she tried hard to emulate Ralph’s coolness.' 

“ Are you afraid ? ” 

“Yes; but I’ll be quiet if I can, and do just 
what you say. Ah ! ” 

This exclamation was wrung from her by a 
momentary access of terror, as the boat reached 
the head of the weir, and was swept along the 
rapid descent of wildly foaming water, with a 
velocity like nothing she had ever before experienced. 
The air seemed full of rushing, and roaring,, and 
hideous confusion. Her senses reeled beneath the 
wild tumult of conflicting sounds. Foam and spray 
were dashed over her ; the boat already seemed 
half full of water as it went crashing and bumping 

along; and at last came that strange sense of up- 

M 


178 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


heaval, never to be forgotten when once experienced, 
and in another moment the girl was struggling in 
the water. She had, however, grasped the oar 
when she saw that the capsize could no longer be 
averted, and though blinded and deafened and half 
choked by the water that surged around her, 
she had a sort of confidence of ultimate salvation 
that robbed the present terrors of their worst 
power. 

It seemed a fearful time before this wild chaos 
resolved itself into anything more quiet, yet in 
reality it was but a few seconds after the upset 
that Ralph guided to shore the half-drowned girl, 
still clinging desperately to the oar, and helped her 
up the steep bank, upon which she lay for a few 
minutes, gasping and exhausted. 

Help was close at hand. There was a mill not 
a hundred yards off, and the miller’s foreman, 
whose warning shout had first aroused the careless 
rowers to a sense of their peril, was already upon 
the scene of action with two of his underlings, and 
was now engaged in the task of rescuing the boat 
and its appurtenances, which were floating about in 
the weir pool. The lady and gentleman were safe 
ashore before they could reach the spot. 


AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT. 179 


“ Mabel,” said Ralph, stooping over her, “ you 
are not hurt, I hope ? ” 

She shook her head, but could not speak for a 
few moments. She was dazed, breathless, be- 
wildered. He gave her his hand and helped her 
to gain her feet. 

“You had better come to the mill, where we 
can get dry.” 

The choking sensation was passing off. Breath 
and sense were alike returning. 

“ Oh, Ralph ! ” she said, “ oh, Ralph ! I ’m afraid 
I am very silly, but I was so horribly frightened ! ” 

“ I think you were remarkably plucky. It was 
a very nasty kind of adventure, especially for anyone 
so encumbered as you were by your dress. Take 
my arm, and let us go up to the mill. We must 
not return to our party like two drowned rats. 
We shall never hear the end of it if we do not 
contrive to restore ourselves to a certain amount of 
respectability.” 

He spoke lightly, yet looked down at her with 
a kind of friendly concern that was pleasant and 
reassuring. Mabel tried to shake off the nervous 
tremor that still held her in its grasp, and to laugh 
with something of her usual gaiety. 


180 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Yes, indeed. It would never do to return in 
our present plight. Let us get dry first, and then 
review the situation calmly.” She took Ralph’s 
arm, and began to mount the little bank that led 
towards the mill, but pausing to look back for a 
moment, she added, with a little shiver, “I think 
you saved my life just now.” 

" I am sure I led you into danger by my abomin- 
able carelessness,” he auswered. “ So you owe me 
no thanks, even if I did fish you out in the end. 
Not but what those fellows would have done the 
same for you a few minutes later if I had failed. 
If you had not held the boat’s head steady as we 
went over the weir, we should have come off much 
worse than we did The danger in these accidents 
is less of actual drowning, than of being dashed 
against rocks, and stunned and injured. We only 
overturned at the foot of the fall, and so escaped 
that peril; and the credit of that is due to you.” 

It was pleasant to be praised in that frank and 
friendly fashion. Mabel had never felt so much at 
ease with Ralph, or been able to take so much real 
pleasure in his society as she had since she had 
taken a resolution not to think of him in any other 
light than that of a cousin or friend. 


AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT. 181 


The miller’s wife now came bustling out, full of 
sympathy for the unlucky pair, who had met with 
so untoward an accident. She hurried Mabel up- 
stairs to change her wet clothes, whilst Ralph was 
consigned to the kitchen, to do the best for him- 
self that he could beside a blazing fire. 

Presently Mabel joined him, quaintly arrayed in 
the country-woman’s Sunday attire. 

“ How nice a fire is ! ” she exclaimed. “ An 
impromptu ducking is a chilly thing. I hope you 
won’t take cold, Ralph, drying in your clothes like 
that. What would your mother say ? ” 

“ She would doubtless feel it very harrowing, 
but I can’t say I feel it to be so myself. I am as 
warm as a toast, and shall be as dry as a bone in 
another half-hour. You must have something hot, 
Mabel, to keep off a chill. I have mixed you a 
potion, and you are to take it, whether you like it 
or not. There ! ” 

“ What a tyrant you can be, Ralph ! I always 
thought you had it in you. Well, give it to me — 
nasty horrid stuff! You must take the conse- 
quences if I steer down another weir going home.” 

“ We ’ll risk that. It wasn’t so bad, after all. 
It is a great thing to have done , you know. We 


182 


DOROTHY S VOCATION. 


shall always be able to boast in days to come of 
how we shot the lasher in safety. ” 

“ Yes, such adventures as these are pleasanter in 
retrospect than in reality. But, Ralph, I shall not 
think it well for the future to let you have Dorothy’s 
letters. If the results are always as disastrous as 
they were to-day, it would be too dangerous a 
pleasure.” 

Ralph smiled, and for once appeared to have no 
repartee ready. A little flush mounted to his face. 
Mabel saw this with an inevitable stab of pain, and 
a faint sensation of jealous anger. But the resolu- 
tions taken under a sudden impulse did not desert 
her. She had insight sufficient to see that from 
every point of view it was far wiser to accept the 
inevitable cheerfully and with good grace. 

“ I must go and see about that boat,” said Ralph, 
rising, after a short silence ; and Mabel was left 
alone to dream over the fire, whilst listening to the 
flow of talk that issued ceaselessly from the lips of 
her hospitable hostess. 

She heard so many narratives of boats upset in 
the lock or over the weir, that she began to wonder 
how the good woman managed to make time for all 
the drying of clothes and housing of drenched folks 


AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT. 


183 


that seemed a common element in her daily life. 
She grew a little drowsy over her speculations as 
she sat in the hot kitchen, and was only roused by 
Ralph’s return. 

“ No great harm done, luckily, and nothing lost, 
thanks to the promptness of those good fellows. 
One plank has sprung, but the men are mending 
the leak in a way that will hold for to-day at least. 
Some of the varnish is knocked off the boat, and 
the cushions are well soused, but there is no great 
damage done. I have arranged, if you have no 
objection, to remain here till our garments are dry, 
and then I will row you quietly home. It seems a 
needless exertion to go all the way back up stream, 
only to come back again, and we are not exactly 
show figures to present ourselves again at the 
picnic.” 

Mabel had no objection to raise to this pro- 
posal ; indeed, the arrangement suited her very 
well. She felt no disposition at all to join a 
merry, laughing company of pleasure- seekers. 
She had been, for perhaps the first time in her 
life, face to face with danger, possibly even with 
death; and, although the adventure had ended 
thus happily, she could not shake off the serious 


184 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


feelings that bad been aroused. Perhaps nothing 
could more have helped to strengthen her in her 
resolutions after greater unselfishness and self- 
denial than the incident that had followed so 
quickly upon the adoption of that sudden resolu- 
tion. 

So a message was dispatched to Mrs. Castleford, 
explaining and excusing the desertion ot this pair 
of guests ; and in due course Mabel and Ralph 
returned home alone together, and met over a 
tete-a-tete tea upon the terrace late on in the 
afternoon. 

Mabel was unusually silent at first ; but all in 
a moment, and without any warning, she broke 
out with this sudden remark — 

“ Ralph, I think I shall go down to Shag’s Bay 
in a few days to relieve guard, and free Dorothy 
to go visiting in my place. It isn’t fair that we 
should have all the fun, and she nothing. Don’t 
you think it would be a good plan ? ” 

“ I hardly know. I must think about it. It ’s 
exceedingly kind of you to propose it ; ” and he 
gave her one of those glances that sent the blood 
coursing through her veins. “But the question 
is, Would she come ? — would she leave her post ? ” 


AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT. 185 


“ I don’t know,” answered Mabel, who had 
hardly considered that side of the matter. “ Per- 
haps she wouldn’t. The children would hate it, 
of course. They adore Dorothy, and don’t care 
at all for me. I’m not sure if she would leave 
them.” 

“ I suppose it is open to doubt ; and then, you 
know, Shag’s Bay may not be altogether so desti- 
tute of attraction. Remember, there is the pos- 
sible visit of Mr. Harold Sopely.” 

Ralph’s face was absolutely inscrutable, yet 
Mabel’s colour flamed up again. 

“ Ralph,” she said, “ I wanted to tell you about 
that. I only said it to tease you. There is not 
the slightest chance of any such thing as that. 
He did pay her attention, and he did make a 
sort of proposal through papa ; but Dorothy never 
cared in the least about him, and when she was 
shut up with the children in isolation the whole 
thing went into abeyance. Mr. Sopely may be 
pining in secret, for all I know to the contrary; 
but I don’t in the least expect that he will go 
to Shag’s Bay.” 

“ Ah ! ” answered Ralph, with his enigmatical 
smile, and lapsed into silence. 


186 


Dorothy’s vocation’. 


“‘It was foolish and not — not — wel., not quite 
straightforward of me to say what I did the other 
day,” continued Mabel, resolved to get out what 
she had meditated saying in the quietude of her 
own room that afternoon. “ I am not quite sure 
if you believed me ; I don’t much think you did. 
At any rate, no harm has been done, and I hope 
you will forget that I ever was silly enough to 
make jokes about anything of that kind. It was 
very bad taste, and not very good-natured. I am 
sorry now I ever did it.” 

The words were spoken rapidly, and not very 
coherently ; but Ralph understood them, and 
understood, too, what was expressed rather than 
spoken. He put out his hand and took Mabel’s, 
in token of amity and mutual good-will. From 
that moment Mabel’s perceptions told her that if 
she had lost Ralph in one sense, she had gained 
him in another. 

After a period of silence, which neither at first 
seemed disposed to break, Ralph said suddenly, 
“ I think, after all, I wouldn’t offer to change 
places with Dorothy.” 

“ You wouldn’t ? Why not ? I’m really quite 
willing, if she would only agree.” 


AN ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT. 187 


*1 do not doubt your willingness, Mabel, but 
I doubt hers.” 

“ I know that would be the difficulty.” 

“ Dorothy's devotion to her vocation is pro- 
verbial. It seems almost a pity to disturb her 
in it.” 

Again Mabel blushed. 

“ I ’m sorry I ever laughed at her for being 
so good and unselfish. I shall never do so again ; 
and I wish you would not remind me of it, Ealph. 
It is not pleasant to be kept in a chronic state 
of semi-abasement.” 

“ I did not in the least mean to do so, Mabel. 
I have teased Dorothy many times myself over 
her love of duty. What I mean is this — that 
as Shag’s Bay is such a pleasant spot, and as 
Dorothy, vide her letter, is evidently having such 
a pleasant time there with her little charges, it 
seems quite a pity to disturb them. After all, 
you know, as you have said before, this is a free 
country, and the place possesses a hotel. If 
Mr. Sopely and suite have not taken possession 
of it, there will be room for others to do so. 
There are games, you know, Mabel, at which 
more than one can play ! ” 



CHAPTER XIV. 

A SURPRISE. 

I^^OD-MORNING, Dorothy!" 

ImW Dorothy looked up from her book with 
a start, and Wilfred scrambled to his feet 
w ith a shout of joyous welcome. 

“ Cousin Ralph ! Cousin Ralph ! Dolly, 
it ’s Cousin Ralph come ! ” 

Dorothy did not .need to be told that. She was 
on her feet now, and her eyes were shining with the 
welcome that her tongue seemed slow to speak, in 
this first moment of astonishment. Ralph held her 
hand between his, and looked down at her, the old 
humorous gleam she knew so well lighting the 
heavy grey eyes. 

“ Ralph ! How did you come ? ” 

. “ By rail and road, like yourselves, I presume. 

I ’ve not yet set up a private balloon of my 
188 
























































































A SURPRISE. 


191 


own, though I *ve thought of doing so some- 
times.” 

“ Your mother ? ” 

“ Is here too, at the hotel. I came down early 
on a voyage of discovery.” 

“ Oh, Ralph, it is so pleasant to see a familiar 
face ! I didn’t think I should find the first fort- 
night so long — perhaps time will go quicker now. 
But whatever brought you here ? You never said 
you were coming.” 

“No, we act on inspiration : that is to say, I do. 
I had an inspiration that sea-bathing was necessary 
to the re-establishment of my shattered constitution, 
also that peace and seclusion are matters of vital 
importance, after the wear and tear of a city 
season. My mother always agrees with me. She 
sees how much care I need ; she brought me straight 
off here directly she found how necessary it was for 
me.” 

Dorothy laughed in the old light-hearted fashion. 
An immense weight seemed rolled off her heart. 

“ You talk as you did when I first saw you,” she 
said, “ when you tried to make me believe you an 
invalid. I think you pretended you were going 
into a decline then. Is that your complaint still ? ” 


192 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ I rather incline to believe that my h$art is 
seriously affected now,” answered Ralph equably, as 
he lay down full-length upon the sand beside 
Dorothy’s encampment. “ My mother has the 
same idea, I fancy, though of course it’s not a 
subject we like to discuss openly. It’s always 
painful, you know, when we do not know how 
things may turn. But naturally it makes her 
anxious to do all in her power for me. You will 
understand her if she talks rather pathetically 
about me. . A mojther always feels the idea of 
losing her only son.” 

Dorothy sat down again, eyeing Ralph keenly. 
She knew enough of his ways to accept any state- 
ment of such a nature with great reservation ; yet 
there was nothing to be learned from the impas- 
sive gravity of his face. 

“ You have developed this new disease with 
great rapidity,” she remarked, with a seriousness 
that rivalled his own. 

“ I believe it has been latent in the system for 
some time,” he answered, meeting her scrutinising 
gaze with one of the calmest candour ; “but it 
has been rapidly developed by recent circum- 
stances. I hope great things, however, from this 


A SURPRISE. 


193 


prospective visit. Sea-air may do wonders for 
me.” 

“ I did not know sea-bathing cured heart-disease,” 
remarked Dorothy, rather sceptically. 

Ralph was looking down at the sand beneath him ; 
for a moment his face was concealed, and only the 
top of his head visible to the girl’s eyes. 

“We will hope it has not amounted to disease 
yet; I only said that my heart was affected.” 

Something in his tone awoke Dorothy’s latent 
suspicions of his good faith. 

“ I don’t believe you know anything about it. I 
believe you only want another excuse for laziness, 
now that the old one will not serve you any longer.” 

“ It is like you to say so. Women are proverb- 
ially hard-hearted. One of these days you will 
find out that I have spoken nothing but the 
unvarnished truth. I only hope you may not 
repent your hard words when repentance will be 
of no avail.” 

But Dorothy only laughed. 

“ You ’ve talked like that before, Ralph ; but 
nothing ever does come. You ought to have 
learned by this time that it does not pay to go on 
crying ‘ Wolf’ too long.” 

N 


194 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


Their eyes met then ; hers were full of laughing 
light, for her heart was full of gladness, and she 
showed it in every look and gesture ; his expressed 
something less easy of interpretation ; but his words 
came in the old indolent, half-mocking way. 

“ There is something rather hopelessly practical 
and concrete about your mind, Dorothy : I noticed 
it from the very first. One cannot inspire you with 
the vague hopes or fears that are meat and drink 
to the general run of girls. You always want 
chapter and verse for everything.” 

But before Dorothy could frame an answer, the 
children, summoned by Wilfred, had come rushing 
like a whirlwind upon them, and Ralph was 
smothered and altogether eclipsed for a consider- 
able time by the pressing attentions and rapturous 
welcomes of this tribe of small cousins. 

“Well, to judge by sight, and sound, and sense, 
I should say there was not much doubt as to the 
robustness of these young rascals,” said Ralph, 
freeing himself at last from the bear-like embrace 
of Winnie and the garotting arms of Bernie. 
“ Come, stand in a row, and let me look at you. 
Yes, I think you ’ll pass muster now. Why, Willie 
boy, is your place always under Dorothy’s wing ? 


A SURPRISE. 


195 


You don’t look quite such a gipsy as the rest ; how 
is that ? ” 

Wilfred said he didn’t know, but he liked being 
with Dolly best ; and Dorothy, in a few low-toned 
words, made Ralph understand that her anxieties 
were not entirely at an end yet. 

“ I am so very glad your mother is here. She 
will be able to tell me if I am needlessly timid, and 
advise me if there is anything I ought to do. How 
long are you going to stay ?” 

“ About a week ; until the second of next month, 
I believe. We have got a party at home coming on 
the tenth, and we must get back in time to put 
everything in trim for that. But at least we have 
a week of holiday before us, and who knows what 
may happen in a week ? ” 

Dorothy felt immensely relieved. 

“ I am so very glad of that. You cannot think 
how pleasant it is to see friends in an out-of-the- 
way place like this. I had not the least idea I 
should see any one I knew for two whole months.” 

“ Your exile is to last all that time, is it?” 

“ If you call it an exile, I don’t. If it were not 
that I cannot help being anxious about poor little 
Willie, I think T should enjoy it very much. I am 


196 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


sure I shall enjoy it whilst you and your mother 
are here.” 

“ I hope you will. It is a pity, though, that 
you are so tied by these youngsters. Your father 
and sisters have promised us a week or two at 
Seymour Park. If you had not been so devoted 
to your vocation, you might have joined them 
there.” 

Dorothy’s eyes shone with an eager, half- wistful 
light. She felt a great wave of longing sweep over 
her ; but she held it resolutely in check, and braced 
her will to do the duty that lay nearest at hand, 
even at the cost of great personal sacrifice. 

“ How nice that will be for them,” she said 
brightly. “ I am sure they will enjoy it very much. 
Yes, I should have liked to join them ; but, you 
see, it is quite out of the question.” 

“ Is it?” 

“ Yes ; I could not leave the children. It would 
quite spoil their holiday ; and Wilfred ought not to 
be left with no one but a servant.” 

“ Not even for a week ? ” 

Dorothy’s eyes were bright with the light of her 
resolute determination ; her answer was spoken in 
clear, emphatic fashion. 


A SURPRISE. 


197 


* Don’t try and tempt me to do what I ought 
not.” 

“ Would it be any use if I did ? ” 

Dorothy laughed,- looking straight at him in her 
frank, honest way. 

“ I hope not, but I don’t want you to try. You 
have a terrible knack of getting your own way, 
Ralph, but I don’t want it tried upon me.” 

“ What will you bet I don’t get it now?” 

“ I won’t bet at all ; but I don’t think you will, 
not as far as I am concerned.” 

“ You don’t think you ’ll meet your father and 
sisters at our place next month ? ” 

“ No, I certainly do not.” 

“ Well, we ’ll see ; ” and Ralph, rising to his feet, 
strolled leisurely away, to assist in the construction 
of a giant sand-tower that was taxing the skill and 
energy of the children. 

Dorothy looked after him with the same bright 
light in her eyes. She was keenly conscious of 
Ralph’s power over her, and of the charm of his 
presence ; but she did not mean to yield either to 
one or the other. She knew what her duty was, 
and she intended doing it, at whatever cost to 
self. 


198 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“You won’t leave us, Dolly dear?” said Wil- 
fred softly, drawing her encircling arm closer round 
him. He had taken in the drift of Ralph’s words, 
and saw a possible danger. “ Cousin Ralph is 
very nice and very fond of you, but he can’t want 
you as much as we do.” 

“ No, Willie boy, you need not be afraid. I ’m 
not going to leave you.” 

“ Not if he wants you ever so much ? ” 

“ No, not for anything be can say.” 

Wilfred heaved a sigh of relief, but presently 
looked up to ask — 

“ Do you want to go, Dolly dear ? ” 

“ No, Wilfred, not really. I have no doubt it 
would be very pleasant to stay at Cousin Ralph’s 
home ; but I should not be happy a bit, if you 
were here wanting me, and I didn’t know what 
was happening. When you get older you will 
understand better. It is not doing the pleasantest 
things that makes us happiest ; it is doing the work 
we feel we ought to do, without stopping to think 
of ourselves at every turn. If we get selfish, always 
trying to please ourselves, it does not make us 
really happy.” 

Wilfred looked up in his earnest, thoughtful way. 


A SURPRISE. 


199 


He liked to listen when Dorothy spoke in this 
fashion. She had got into the way of late of talk- 
ing to him more seriously ; but the child’s face was 
a little bit troubled. 

“ Is it selfish of us to want you, Dolly, 
dear ? ” 

Dorothy laughed and kissed him. 

“ No, Willie boy, that is not selfish. I should be 
very sorry if you didn’t want me.” 

“ Even if you could go to Cousin Ralph’s ? ” 

“ Yes, even if I could go there. A visit to 
Cousin Ralph’s would not make amends for feeling 
that I had done my duty so badly here as not even 
to be missed.” 

“We should miss you, Dolly : we should miss 
you dreadfully ! It doesn’t seem as if we had 
anybody but you.” 

She stooped and kissed him tenderly. That 
little confession sounded very pathetic* in her 
ears. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Willie. I ’m not going to 
leave you — not for all the Cousin Ralphs in the 
world.” 

So Wilfred was pacified, and leaned against 
Dorothy’s shoulder in placid contentment. 


200 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“You ’re not going to steal our Dolly away,” he 
announced to Ralph, when he came back to them, 
after half-an-hour’s play. 

“ And who says that, young man ? ” 

“ She does herself. She won’t go away with 
you. She belongs to us, and we belong to her. 
We haven’t got anybody else, and she likes us 
best.” 

Ralph and Dorothy both laughed. The girl’s 
colour flew up a little in spite of herself. Ralph, 
on the other hand, was perfectly cool. He sat down 
on a fragment of rock, and drew Wilfred towards 
him. 

“ Don’t you know, my boy, that it ’s a lady’s 
special prerogative to say one thing and mean an- 
other ? ” he asked gravely. 

Wilfred’s eyes were round and rather indignant ; 
he looked appealingly at Dorothy, as much as to say, 
“ Is it ? ” and received ior answer a shake of the 
head. 

“ She says it isn’t. Dolly says so. She must 
know best.* 

“That does not follow at all. There are some 
things of which Dolly is even now painfully 
ignorant.” 


A SURPRISE. 


201 


Wilfred looked indignant. 

“ It is quite true, my boy, though I am sorry to 
shake your faith in your oracle. Your good sister 
Dolly is curiously ignorant of that very primitive 
science of taking care of herself.” 

Wilfred’s face was grave and puzzled. 

“Dolly’s grown up; she doesn’t want taking 
care of, does she ? ” 

“ Yes, she does ; we all do, only most of us take 
particular care of ourselves, and, as I say, that is an 
art she has not learned yet.” 

“ He ’s talking nonsense, Willie,” interposed 
Dorothy ; but Wilfred did not heed. 

“ Why doesn’t some one teach her, then ? ” 

“ Some people get too old to learn. I doubt 
Dolly’s capacity for assimilating such teaching.” 

The long words puzzled Wilfred, but he caught 
at the leading idea. 

“ Then why doesn’t somebody take care of 
her?” 

“ Ah ! that is a sensible suggestion. We had 
better find somebody to undertake the office, hadn’t 
we?” 

“ I should think you would do for that,” said 


202 


DOROTHY'S VOCATION. 


Wilfred, eyeing him critically. “ You ’re big 
enough to take care of Dolly.” 

“ Now you mention it, I almost think I am. 
I must see if I cannot qualify myself for the 
office.” 






CHAPTER XV. 


ealph’s decision. 

ES, mother, I have thought of all that. I 
have realised it as a possible obstacle in 
my way ; but at the same time, despite 
her devotion to them, I think she is too 
true a woman to sacrifice me entirely to the child- 
ren, even though she might be willing to sacrifice 
herself. If I can win her — and I believe that it will 
not be long before I do — I think we can get the 
other matter settled, even to her satisfaction, with- 
out very much difficulty. With a man of Mr. 
Templeton’s type, I do not fancy we should have 
much trouble in arranging things our own way.” 

“ And what is your way ? ” 

“ Well, one or two plans have come into my 
head. You see, those two elder boys should be 

going to some good preparatory school by this 

203 



204 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


time, and I don’t see that their father could do 
better than Mr. Cardwell’s, in which case they 
would be near us, and we could keep an eye on 
them. As for the two little ones, if Dorothy were 
with us at the Park, they could have the separation 
broken by good long visits, and we would find some 
really nice, gentle, lady-like girl who would be glad 
to take the post of resident governess — not one of 
your merely certificated women, but some one who 
would really love the children, and care for them. 
If I go into politics, as I have half decided to 
do if the people really wish it, we should be a good 
deal of our time in town, and Dorothy could give 
an eye to the children there. I don’t think I am 
hard-hearted where those youngsters are concerned, 
and I don’t think I take a light or superficial view 
of Dorothy’s duty towards them ; but I do say 
most emphatically that if she learns to love me, 
they shall not be allowed to stand in the way of 
her happiness and of her duty towards herself and 
me. One can generally adjust conflicting claims 
by a little patience, and foresight, and discrimina- 
tion ; but one thing is very plain to me — that the 
less must give way to the greater.” 

Ralph spoke with great deliberation, and he 


EALPH S DECISION. 


205 


looked as if he meant what he said, and had the 
power to carry it through. Mrs. Seymour bent her 
head in a quiet assent. 

“Yes, Ralph, you are quite right. If you win 
Dorothy's heart, the rest can and must be settled 
in some fashion of that kind. No woman ought to 
do too great violence to her instincts of love, even 
from a sense of duty ; and Dorothy is, as you 
say, too true a woman to take strained and morbid 
views of life, besides having too happy and elastic 
a nature. She shows that she is capable of doing 
the duty that stands first, at the cost of considerable 
self-sacrifice ; but when you are her first duty, 
Ralph, she will show you in practical fashion how 
well that duty can be done — I am sure of it.” 

Ralph was looking straight out before him ; a 
half smile curved his lips. 

“ You talk as if there were no doubt at all as to 
the answer I am to get.” 

“ If I think that, I suppose it is only because I 
have eyes in my head. I only wonder you have 
not got it all settled by this time.” 

The light was deepening in the young man’s 
eyes. 

“ The fact is, I hardly ever see her alone ; those 


206 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


everlasting children are always in the way. I *m 
not sure now that I shall not have to wait till we 
get to the Park. I can at least secure peace there. 
But I think she is at last beginning to understand 
me. It was a long time before she did, but I feel 
that the ice is broken now — and what is more, 
1 do not think she herself is displeased.” 

Mother and son had been nearly a week at 
Shag’s Bay, and most of their time had been passed 
with Dorothy and her little charges, to the great 
delight of the whole party. The relief to Dorothy 
had been great, and it seemed as if Mrs. Seymour’s 
advice regarding little Wilfred had been of value, 
for the child seemed better and stronger, and 
Ralph’s merry ways with the children roused him 
up, and induced him to try and join in games that 
had not tempted him before. Dorothy, for the 
first time since their acquaintance had begun, was 
a little shy of Ralph ; and though his presence in 
her vicinity seemed one of the main elements of 
happiness in her life, she shrank from tete-a-tete 
interviews with him, and preferred to talk to him 
in the safe proximity of her little charges. She 
was keenly aware of the subtle change that had 
passed over him (or was it in herself that the change 


Ralph’s decision. 


207 


had taken place ?), which gave something altogether 
new and strangely sweet to the pleasant friendship 
that had hitherto been so easy and cousinly. These 
words would no longer describe it now, as she very 
well knew, and realised with a thrill of exquisite 
happiness. But she did not wish any sudden 
change yet. It was all so strange and sudden and 
unreal, that she wanted time to adjust her mind to 
a new focus. She felt Ralph’s protecting presence 
sufficient as yet; she wished for nothing more. 

Yet the day of their departure was at hand, little 
as she realised it. They were to return home 
within three days. Was that to be the end of this 
dream of unknown happiness ? Dorothy’s heart 
answered that question in the negative. 

September had come in, as it sometimes does, 
with deluges of rain and a wild south-west wind. 
One wet day had already been passed, and another 
dawned as wild and tempestuous. To Dorothy’s 
surprise, Mrs. Seymour appeared at the cottage 
almost immediately alter breakfast, and from her 
alert and business-like air, she evidently came on 
some special errand. 

“Now, Dorothy, my love, I think you know 
how to put your best foot foremost on occasion. 


208 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


It is hopeless to expect better weather the next 
few days, when south-west gales set in like this, 
so there is really nothing to detain us here ; and 
the sooner Wilfred is moved to better indoor 
quarters, the better it will be for all. Can you 
get packed up and ready to start by the one 
o’clock coach? It takes us within twelve miles 
of home, and Ralph will telegraph for carriages 
to meet us. Set the nurses to work at once, 
and get settled up with your landlady. I think 
you will have time to manage all nicely, and 
I can stay and keep the children quiet by 
telling them stories of the place where they 
are going.” 

Dorothy was looking at her in mute surprise. 

“ But where are they going ? ” 

“ To Seymour Park, my dear. Did you not 
know ? ” Although Mrs. Seymour spoke gravely 
and innocently, there was a laughing light in her 
eyes that somewhat belied her. “ All that was 
arranged before we left town. Your father and 
sisters will join us on the tenth ; but we want to 
get back quickly, to have everything in readiness.” 

Dorothy was looking grave and perplexed. 

“ I knew they were going ; but indeed I think 


Ralph's decision. 


209 


there is some mistake about us. Claudia so dis- 
tinctly told me that we were to remain the whole 
time at Shag’s Bay. It is most kind of you to wish 
to be troubled with us all, but indeed I do not 
think I ought to move without writing first to 
Claudia.” 

Dorothy had an undefined conviction that this 
extraordinary denouement was due to some plotting 
on the part of Ralph. She had not forgotten his 
enigmatic words and manner on the first day of his 
appearance. She very well knew his determination 
of purpose, and his talent for contriving to get his 
own way, and she suspected that this was some 
scheme of his for carrying them all off, in defiance 
of her family and of Claudia’s commands. Much 
as she longed to go, she was not going to be out- 
witted like that. She had her own standard of 
what was due to herself and others. 

“ I must write and ask Claudia first,” she said. 

“ Why so, my dear ? ” 

“ Because I have not got leave to move the 
children ; and you know they do not actually 
belong to me, and I must not abuse my author- 
ity.” 

“ But is not your father’s consent sufficient ? ” 

o 


210 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Oh yes, of course ; only he does not like to 
be troubled with arrangements. Claudia settles 
everything. I shall have to write to her before 
I could accept your most kind invitation. You 
understand what I mean, do you not ? It would 
not do for me to take the children, and settle 
them anywhere else, without the knowledge of 
anyone. It would never do for father to come 
to Seymour Park and find us all there, when he 
knew nothing at all about it.” 

Mrs. Seymour was smiling placidly. 

“ But, my love, he knows everything about it. 
He has given cordial consent to the plan, and has 
authorised me to carry you all off at any time 
that suited me best.” 

Dorothy’s eyes flashed with a new bright light, 
her face glowed with happiness ; she clasped her 
hands tightly together. 

“ Oh, is that really so ? It seems almost too good 
to be true ! You are quite sure ? It is not ” 

“ Some fiction on Ralph’s part ? ” questioned 
Mrs. Seymour, with a smile. “ I see you have 
your doubts as to the trustworthiness of that great 
boy of mine. No, Dorothy, my dear, there is 
nothing to be afraid of. Your father accepted 


balph’s decision. 


211 


the invitation for the whole family long ago, am] 
just before I came here, when I met him at ;■ 
friend’s house, he gave me full leave to carry you 
all off at any time I judged best. He was quite 
of my opinion that rough, homely lodgings were 
hardly suitable for Wilfred when the summer 
began to wane. He knows all about it. He will 
expect to find you all there.” 

Dorothy doubted no longer ; a joyous sense of 
gladness filled her heart. Only one question she 
could not refrain from putting — 

“ Does Claudia know ? ” 

The inquiry was made with such ingenuous 
simplicity that Mrs. Seymour could hardly restrain 
a smile, but her answer was quietly spoken. 

“ Possibly not. We think that she might 
reasonably have raised an objection to bringing 
such a large party from one house, not under- 
standing how great will be the pleasure of wel- 
coming you, dear Dorothy, and the children to 
our home. As a mistress of a house, she might 
think it her duty to interpose and limit the 
numbers ; and as we do not wish that, we said 
nothing to her on the subject. Indeed, Ralph 
was so cautious that he would, not even let me 


212 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


name to you the plot we have been meditating 
all these weeks ; and also he is anxious to pre- 
pare a little surprise for your sisters on their 
arrival ; and I don’t think he intends permitting 
you to inform them of your whereabouts. You 
know you wrote Claudia a long letter yesterday, 
so that she can wait for news of you now till she 
meets you at our house.” 

Dorothy’s cheeks had flamed more than once 
during the course of this speech. She felt instinct- 
ively that Ralph and his mother read the jealous, 
selfish nature of her sister like an open book. 
They put the best face upon it that was possible, 
too kind and considerate to do otherwise, but 
very plainly they were not hoodwinked ; they 
estimated her character at its true value. 

Dorothy was saved the embarrassment of a 
reply by a burst of joyous clamour from the next 
room. 

“I suppose Ralph has been telling the children/’ 
remarked Mrs. Seymour. “ He said he should 
follow me down.” 

Dorothy slipped away to give directions to the 
nurses, and to allow her heated cheeks to cool, 
and the joyous, excited flutter at her heart to 


Ralph’s decision. 


21 3 


subside. She kept out of the way for some time, 
and indeed she was busy enough upstairs, packing 
and sorting and arranging ; but at length she 
had to come down to see to the books and toys 
below in the parlour, and it was no very great 
surprise to find Ralph with the children, all more 
or less engaged in the task of putting up treasures 
in safety, and discarding mere rubbish that would 
not stand packing and moving. 

“ Ah ! and here is Dorothy/* said Ralph, 
leisurely disengaging himself from the crowd of 
satellites, and giving her his hand, whilst the 
old well-known gleam of mischief sparkled in his 
eyes. “ So we are to prevail after all ; you are 
not quite so strong as you boasted ? ** 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” answered 
Dorothy, with a kind of merry defiance. She 
was so happy that she was almost afraid she 
should let it be seen too visibly. 

“ I thought you said no power on earth would 
ever bring you to Seymour Park ? ” 

“ I ’m sure I never said any such thing. I only 
said I could not leave the children.” 

“ And your great intellect never saw that there 
was any possible solution of that difficulty ? ” 


214 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ My great intellect had no concern in the 
matter at all.” 

“ Indeed ! What charming independence of 
mind ! Dorothy, will you speak the truth if 
I ask you a question ? ” 

“ Why should I speak anything else ? Am 
I addicted to mendacity ? ” 

“You are addicted to evasion sometimes, and 
evasion is trying. For my part, I am a plain 
man ” 

“Yes, very.” 

“ Don’t interrupt. I am a straightforward 
man, and like a plain answer to a plain question. 
Are you glad to be coming home with us ? ” 

They had both been laughing the minute 
before, but a sudden look of purpose akin to 
gravity had suddenly flashed into Ralph’s eyes. 
Dorothy’s glance fell before them. 

“ Yes, I am very glad,” she answered truthfully, 
but in a much lower tone. 

“ You come willingly ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

He came and took one step nearer; they were 
standing very close together ; the hubbub of the 
children around them no longer made itself heard. 


Ralph’s decision. 


215 


“ Dorothy,” said Ralph, in very quiet, even 
tones, “ I was at the Park a few days ago, and 
I made up my mind on one important point : 
it will never be like a home to me, until you 
have lived beneath its roof.” 





CHAPTER XVL 

A VOCATION FOUND. 

HIS is my home, Dorothy.” 

“ It is a lovely old place, Ralph. No 
wonder you are fond of it I I think 
the house is just perfect.” 

“ It is not quite perfect in my eyes 
yet, but I hope shortly to supply the one thing 
it lacks.” 

Dorothy did not ask what that want was, as she 
would have done a week ago. The treacherous 
colour rose in her face, and she felt it, and knew 
that Ralph observed it. Indeed, she began to be 
aware that there were very few things with regard 
to herself that Ralph did not observe. 

It was the hour immediately following a wild 
September sunset, which Ralph and Dorothy had 

stepped out upon the terrace to watch. The rain 
216 



A VOCATION FOUND. 


217 


that had poured down ceaselessly all day had 
ceased now, and the great banks of cloud in the 
west were burning with intense tints of purple, 
orange, and crimson. An inky bar behind de- 
noted the approach of another hurricane ; but 
meantime the air was still and almost warm, 
the leaves of the trees were wet and glistening, 
and the birds were singing their mellow evening 
song. 

It was two hours since the travellers had reached 
their destination, and already Dorothy felt curiously 
at home in the deliciously quaint old house. Such 
comfort and luxury without ostentation, such trea- 
sures of literature and art, such perfect blending of 
home comfort with every refinement of wealth, 
Dorothy had never met with in any other place. 
It seemed to her fancy an ideal place, and Mrs. 
Seymour was undoubtedly to her an ideal presiding 
genius. 

The children had been absolutely enchanted with 
their nurseries, and indeed they would have been 
hard to please had it been otherwise ; for the suite 
of low, quaint-looking, panelled rooms, with their 
deep recesses, funny corner cupboards, doors of com- 
munication, and queer little steps and passages, 


218 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


would have charmed the most discontented of occu- 
pants, and threw the already delighted children 
into fresh paroxysms of joy. There was a battered 
old rocking-horse and a dilapidated doll’s house, as 
well as a variety of new toys and books, and it was 
no wonder if the little ones felt as if they had 
stepped, if not into fairyland itself, at least into 
some place quite' as good. 

Dorothy, freed from the burden of responsibility 
and sole charge that had weighed upon her so long — 
weighed upon her, indeed, even more than she knew 
— felt like one relieved of a heavy burden of care, and 
the rebound brought with it a joyousness of spirit 
beyond anything she had ever before experienced. 

Her happy face, as she stood upon the terrace 
with Ralph, was in itself a picture, and one, more- 
over, which that young gentleman seemed to have 
every disposition to study. 

“ We have got one week of freedom before us, 
Dorothy, and then all the world and his wife will be 
upon us. We must make the most of our oppor- 
tunities whilst they are ours.” 

She smiled but did not look at him. 

“ Why do you ask all the world and his wife, if 
you do not want the trouble of entertaining them?” 


A VOCATION FOUND. 


219 


“ One must do one’s duty by society, you see, 
even at the cost of some personal sacrifice. You 
ought to know that without any prompting, Doro- 
thy — you who are so great at a vocation.” 

“ Now, don’t you begin to tease me like that too, 
Ralph,” pleaded Dorothy, with her own bright 
laugh. “ If you only knew how often my life has 
been made a burden to me on account of my un- 
lucky fancy for a vocation ! ” 

‘‘No, but, seriously, I think you should have 
one,” answered Ralph, speaking in his most delib- 
erate way. He 'was leaning back against the wide 
stone balustrade of the terrace, with his head out- 
lined in clear relief against the background of the 
stormy sunset sky. The glowing light shone full 
on Dorothy’s face as she turned it up towards him, 
and light of laughter in her dark eyes, a mutinous 
look upon her lips. “ Some women are cut out for 
a vocation, and it seems to me that you are just 
one of that kind.” 

His mother would have understood the meaning 
of that peculiar lowness of tone and deliberation of 
manner better than Dorothy did. To her it 
seemed as if Ralph had simply fallen into one of 
his ordinary teasing moods. She could look him 


220 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


in the face now with her own ready, mischievous 
smiles. As for his face, it was somewhat in shadow, 
but the fine outline of his features was very clear, 
and looked to Dorothy as if it had undergone some 
imperceptible change of an accentuating, emphasis- 
ing character. She was struck as perhaps she had 
never been before with the fact that he was an un- 
usually handsome man. 

Yet almost before her eyes had had time to take 
in this much, her lips had framed a laughing' 
retort. 

“ You had better find me one, then ! ” 

“ That is exactly what I purpose doing. Dorothy, 
I asser,t that your vocation is found — is waiting 
for you. It is only for you to say whether you 
accept it or not.” 

This unexpected attack silenced her instantly. 
Again the glow of the western sky seemed reflected 
in her cheek. There was no mistaking the pur- 
port of these last words ; her eyes fell beneath the 
glance they met. He took her hands and drew 
her a little nearer to him, and she did not resist. 

“ Dorothy, your vocation is before you now. 
Will you take it ? ” 


A VOCATION FOUNDt 


221 


Mrs. Seymour, sitting alone in the sweet old- 
fashioned drawing-room, fragrant with the scent of 
roses, warm with the dancing light cast by the 
blaze of the wood fire lighted in honour of their 
arrival, was thinking of summoning in the two wan- 
derers, who had been for half-an-hour standing 
about or pacing up and down the wide terrace in 
front of the windows. She had seen nothing at all 
of them for the last ten minutes, and was half-dis- 
posed to call to them, for Dorothy had only a light 
shawl over her shoulders, and after the rain the air 
was chill. On the whole, however, she thought she 
had better leave them to their own devices. Ralph 
was to be trusted to take care of his companion, 
and Dorothy was no tender hot-house plant. When 
at last they did appear, she felt rewarded for her 
discretion. Ralph entered by the glass door, and 
she knew by the light in his eyes, and by the strong, 
sharp lines in which his features were set, that he 
had some news for her. His companion was a few 
paces behind. 

“ Mother,” he began in his most quiet and 
impassive way, “I am afraid we have left you 
rather long alone, but the fact is we got into a 
somewhat absorbing discussion. We were deter- 


:222 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


mining upon a suitable vocation for Dorothy, and 
I almost think we have hit upon the right thing at 
last. Can you guess what it is, by chance ? ” 

Then Mrs. Seymour, for answer, opened her arms, 
and Dorothy went straight into them. 

* * * * * 

Certainly the days that followed were golden 
days for Dorothy. She seemed to live in a new 
world — a world which contained none but the 
beings most dear to her. Ralph was, of course, the 
centre figure, but his mother took only a secondary 
place. That new relationship was so very sweet to 
the motherless girl that it seemed to fill to the 
brim her cup of happiness. Mrs. Seymour accepted 
her as a veritable daughter, and lavished upon her 
a perfect wealth of love; and Dorothy was the 
more grateful for this from the knowledge that some 
mothers, idolising an only son as this kinswoman 
of hers did, would by no means welcome a 
daughter-in-law with so much tenderness and con- 
tent. 

But then Mrs. Seymour was an absolutely 
unselfish woman, and her son’s welfare and happi- 
ness took the foremost place in her thoughts. She 
had long looked forward to the day when he should 


A VOCATION FOUND. 


223 


bring home a wife to share the home with them, 
and such was her sense of sympathy with him, and 
comprehension of his nature, that she had never 
been troubled by the fear of his making an unsuit- 
able marriage, or of his loving anyone who was not 
fully worthy of love. 

She had loved Dorothy from the first, both for 
her own sake, and in remembrance of the mother 
she so closely resembled, who had been a dear 
friend of Mrs. Seymour’s before her marriage. 
When she saw how matters were going with her 
son she rejoiced sincerely, and now her cup ot 
happiness seemed full. 

And for the first time in her life Dorothy enjoyed 
unfettered communion with people who really 
understood her. She was not laughed at when she 
spoke of the children and of her duties to them. 
The matter was not pooh-poohed as if she had no 
longer any concern with old ties after having 
assumed new ones. Both Ralph and his mother 
let her understand that she had their sympathy 
and comprehension ; and she saw very plainly, too, 
that they would help her out of any future diffi- 
culties, assist her in adjusting various or conflicting 
claims, and that she would never be called upon to 


224 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


act towards the clinging, dependent little ones in 
a fashion that might seem harsh or unkind to 
them. 

This confidence seemed like the crowning point 
to Dorothy’s happiness. She knew that it had 
been the sterling merit in the character of the 
Seymours which had attracted her so strongly 
towards them. Hers was a nature that could not 
really love where it could not entirely respect — one 
that put in the foremost place attributes that are 
sometimes liable to be little considered, or may 
even be held in contempt. She would never, of her 
own choice, link her outer life with those who 
did not share her innermost beliefs and aspirations. 
It was the sense of sympathy and help in these 
that riveted the bonds which bound her heart to 
Ralph’s. That he felt the same she very well 
knew; they were as one in the best and truest 
sense of the word. 

To no one in the outside world could Dorothy 
communicate the intelligence of what had befallen 
her. Ralph was wishful that, for these first few 
days, it should remain a secret, and she had no 
option but to consent, for she did not know the 
present address of her father and sisters, and until 


A VOCATION FOUND. 


225 


their arrival at the Park it was not likely that she 
would be able to communicate with them. To tell 
the truth, she was not sorry for this. In the first 
flush of her happiness, silence was sweeter than any 
words. 

On the first day when the sun shone with 

anything like vigour, Ralph informed Dorothy 
that the horses would be round in half an 
hour, and also that her habit had been sent 

from town. 

“ You must see something of the surroundings 
of your future home, you know, and I flatter myself 
that you will see them best under my escort and 
on horseback. I want you to try the paces of 
Firefly, and see if he suits you. I ’ve got him for 
a week on trial. I think he ought to turn out 

well. He is very well bred and very good- 

tempered. You don’t mind a high spirit, I sup- 
pose ? He has that, for he is young, and flighty 
in his mind ; but I never like to have any but 
young things for saddle-work. One knows that 
they have all their work in them then.” 

Dorothy’s face glowed as she ran to dress for her 
ride. This calm selection of things for her use was 

still strange enough to be half embarrassing, though 

v 


226 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


it "was intoxicatingly sweet ; the girl found it hard 
to realise her own happiness. 

But she could enjoy without reasoning about it, 
as she very soon discovered, when she found herself 
cantering through the wet leaves or galloping across 
smooth green pasture-land with "Ralph by her side. 
Riding was always a keen pleasure to Dorothy, 
although, thanks to the selfishness of her sisters, one 
not often enjoyed, and it seemed to her the very 
poetry of motion to-day, as the two spirited, high- 
mettled horses swept tirelessly over the ground that 
breezy September morning, with the firm, elastic 
tread that bespoke their excellent breeding and 
perfect condition. 

When at last they drew rein, the colour was deep 
in Dorothy’s face, and the light in her eyes was 
intense. Her companion watched her in silence 
from his more elevated position ; there was some- 
thing very charming, to him at least, in the childish 
power of enjoyment peculiarly characteristic of this 
girl. She took life so gladly and simply, and withal 
so earnestly. Her heart was like a flower opening 
gratefully in the warmth and brightness of the 
sun. 


You liked that, Dolly ? 


A VOCATION FOUND. 


227 


“Ah, did I not!” Then with a quick look at 
him, hall' arch, half solicitous, she asked — 

“ It did not hurt you, Ralph ? I’m afraid I 
forgot ; I am sorry.” 

“ Forgot what ?” 

“Why, that you are not quite strong yet — that 
you are not allowed to exert yourself much.” 

“But I am allowed now. I am quite strong. 
I got leave to do exactly as I pleased again before 
ever I left town.” 

The anxious glance was merged now in one 
wholly arch and merry. 

“ Then pray why did you come down to Shag’s 
Bay with such a gloomy story about yourself ? ” 

“ Did I ? I don’t remember.” ITis face was 
impassively grave, with the gravity that always 
implied mischief. 

“ You do remember ; don’t tell stories. You 
came down to try and pass as the interesting 
invalid, and win a sympathy and consideration you 
little deserved ! Don’t you remember telling me 
that you had got heart-disease ? I’m glad I didn’t 
believe it. I knew you just a little too well, you 
see.” 

“ My dearest Dorothy, I wish you could learn to 


228 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


be a shade more accurate. It is the failing of your 
sex, to be sure, to be loose and inexact ; but you, 
at least, in having such exceptional advantages 
from your intercourse with me, should try and 
conquer that defect. If you will carry your 
memory back, you will find that I did not say 
a word about disease ; I merely told you that 
my heart was seriously affected, which was quite 
true.” 

“ It ’s all the same,” asserted Dorothy reck- 
lessly. “What did you- tell me once about 
people who insisted on making a distinction 
without a difference ! What are you doing 
yourself now ? ” 

“ Nothing at all of that kind. At least, not in 
my own opinion. Of course I don’t know what 
your definition of disease may be.” 

“ I don’t see that I have anything to do with 
it,” cried Dorothy. 

“ Only this much — that you cured it” 

“ Cured what ? ” 

“ Why that affection of the heart, that had been 
bothering me the last three months. You cured 
it very quickly, out on the terrace the other 
night.” 


A VOCATION FOUND. 


229 


u Oh,” answered Dorothy, with a little defiant 
turn of the head, and the light of laughter in her 
eyes, “ then in that case let us have another gallop. 
The exertion is not likely to hurt you.” 






CHAPTER XVn. 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 



^ VERY fine country — a very fine country 
v indeed,” remarked Mr. Templeton, as, 


seated in an open landau opposite to liis 
two daughters, he looked about him with 
approbation as they were driven rapidly 
towards the Park. “ It was a strange thing I never 
chanced to hear the good fortune that fell to 
Seymour’s lot some fifteen years ago, in the acqui- 
sition of this property — a strange thing, and most 
untoward. Why, we might have ranked amongst 
their intimate friends by this time, if we had only 
known. A most unfortunate thing ; but after your 
mother’s death I entirely dropped all communication 
with the family. It did not appear to be a connec- 
tion likely to be of the smallest value. We live in 

an odd world. One never knows what will turn up. 

230 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 


231 


“It has been most unfortunate, certainly, in tbi 
case,* answered Claudia. “ However, we must do 
our best to make up for lost time. So far, I do 
not think things have turned out amiss.” 

“ Not at all, not at all. Selina has been most 
friendly. This invitation in itself proves that she 
desires to establish a sort of intimacy. I wonder. 

now ” But this speculation was cut short by 

an exclamation from Mabel. 

“ Surely that is Ralph riding across that meadow 
over there — one can’t mistake even his back ; those 
are surely his broad shoulders, and that must be he 
from the carriage of his head. He looks well on 
horseback, too. I wonder who is with him. Have 
they been out hunting and lost the hounds, I 
wonder ? ” 

“It’s a little too early for hunting,” remarked 
Mr. Templeton, “and too late in the day for the 
cubs. I suppose they are out for a ride. Nice 
weather for riding — soft under foot and fine 
overhead.” 

Mabel half smiled. She had leaped to a sudden 
conclusion of her own, but looked a little surprised. 
Ralph’s companion was evidently a girl, and it was 
rather a marked thing for him to be riding out 


232 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


alone with her like that ; and the Seymours did not 
as a rule do eccentric things. 

Yet it was certainly Ralph ; as Mabel truly said, 
he was not a man to be easily mistaken. Claudia 
caught at the most consoling thing she could think 
of. 

“Probably it is a riding-party. We know there 
are other people at the house. Very likely they 
have got up something to amuse their guests.” 

“I think Ralph might have been at home to 
meet us when we arrived,” remarked Claudia, with 
some temper; and Mabel said “Yes,” with an 
appearance of sharing the sentiment. 

“ When did you last hear from Dorothy ? ” asked 
the father, as the carriage passed the lodge gates. 
“Will she have got here before us, or when will 
she come ? ” 

“ Oh, didn’t I tell you before, papa ? I decided 
for Dorothy and the children to remain at Shag’s 
Bay. I thought it was all understood. You see, 
we really couldn’t, in common decency, overrun Mrs. 
Seymour’s house in such a fashion. Fancy coming, 
a party of ten, to a house where there was other 
company as well ! It was very kind of her to 
suggest such a thing, but of course no hostess would 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 


233 


expect an invitation like that to be accepted. 
When I wrote the day before yesterday to announce 
our coming, I just mentioned that the seaside party 
would remain where they were. I am sure she 
never really expected us to come in full force/’ 

“ Oh, well, if you have arranged it all with 
Selina, I have nothing more to say,” answered 
Mr. Templeton ; “ though I do think it ’s rather 
hard poor Dolly should be cut out of everything, 
especially as she took all the nursing of the 
children upon herself. But when Selina spoke 
to me about it she seemed very much bent on 
getting the children here with Dorothy. I don’t 
remember exactly what passed, but I know I got 
an impression that they might get here before 
ourselves.” 

Claudia smiled indulgently. 

“ Oh dear no ! they are down at the sea, and 
it is much best that they should remain there. 
It is not good for children to be always moving 
about, and visiting always spoils them. As for 
Dorothy, she is little more than a child herself, 
and is a very suitable companion for the little 
ones.” 

“ Well, well, have it your own way,” answered 


234 


DOROTHY’S VOCATION. 


Mr. Templeton, who never could sustain an argu- 
ment with Claudia. “ Only I must say that 
I think it would be only a kindly and sisterly 
thing for one of you girls to go and relieve guard 
down there in a few days’ time, and let Dorothy 
come here. She likes the Seymours, and they like 
her, and the poor girl has not had a bit of fun all 
the summer.” 

“We will think about it,” answered Claudia 
in her quiet way, and looked at Mabel, the 
expression of whose face she did not entirely 
understand. 

The beauty of the broad lime avenue now 
attracted Mr. Templeton’s attention, and no more 
passed on the unwelcome theme of Dorothy or her 
little charges. The beauty of the mediaeval old 
house, and the harmony of all its appointments, 
at once struck Mr. Templeton and his daughters 
as a further evidence of the wealth and social 
status of these once despised kinsfolk. They 
might have been in grander houses before, but 
certainly in none that indicated such refinement 
and culture on the part of its owners. Why had 
they been so unfortunate as to remain so long in 
ignorance of these delightful relations ? 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 


235 


They were shown into the drawing-room, where 
Mrs. Seymour received them with great friendli- 
ness. There were two or three more ladies in 
the room, guests in the house, and the tea equi- 
page was already there, for it was five o’clock, 
and the new-comers, who had not travelled far 
to-day, sat down to enjoy a cup of tea before 
retiring to their rooms. 

One bright-faced girl, the youngest of the com- 
pany, whom Mrs. Seymour addressed as Beatrix, 
devoted herself to the task of entertaining Claudia 
and Mabel, to whom she had been introduced. 
These last were in very gracious mood, and it was 
no effort to make the conversation flow. Some- 
thing was said at last about Ralph, and Claudia 
asked after him. 

“ Oh, he is very well — remarkably well, in 
fact. He said he should be in before this, but, 
poor fellow ! one must make allowances for him. 
I don’t suppose he has the least idea of the flight 
of time. His thoughts are otherwise occupied.” 

Remembering the glimpse they had caught of 
him, Claudia felt a little uneasy, but Mabel asked, 
with praiseworthy self-possession — 

“ What does all that mean ? ” 


236 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ Why, you see, he is out riding with his 
fiancee” was the gay reply ; “ and, as it is rather 
a new pleasure, one must expect it to be slightly 
engrossing.” 

“ Do you mean that he is engaged ? 99 asked 
Claudia. “I had not heard.” 

“ No, it is quite a new thing. Indeed, I am 
not sure if it is quite proper of me to talk so 
openly about it ; but I have known Ralph all 
his life, and we are great friends, and I am so 
pleased he has found such a charming wife for 
himself. I ’m sure you will admire his choice 
when you see her. I think she is perfectly deli- 
cious. Surely that is Ralph’s step in the hall ; 
now you will see for yourself!” 

A merry gleam of mischief was in Beatrix’s 
eyes. She had not the least notion of any jealousy 
between the sisters, and she thought that it was 
delightful for one to have got engaged in such 
a romantic fashion in the absence of the others, 
and then to take them quite by surprise. She 
and her mother had been intimate with the Sey- 
mours for very many years, and knew a great 
deal about them and the circumstances of .Ralph’s 
engagement, but not a word had ever been allowed 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 


237 


to pass that could appear in the very least to cast 
a reflection upon Dorothy’s father or sisters. 

Claudia and Mabel waited for Ralph’s entrance 
with intense subdued impatience and excitement. 
They were not kept waiting long ; yet, when the 
door opened, they were both disposed to believe 
that they were the victims of an optical illusion. 
The slim, graceful girl in the dark habit looked 
like a sort of glorified effigy of Dorothy. Glorified 
is perhaps a strong word to use, yet nothing so 
well expresses the extreme radiancy of happiness 
that shone in her eyes and transfigured her whole 
face, and that deep, rich, fluctuating colour which 
plainly testified to the emotion called up by the 
prospective meeting with her relatives. But she 
did not really shrink from it — she was too brave 
and glad in the strength of her great happiness to 
have room for much trepidation ; and then, was 
not Ralph close behind ? How could she fear in 
his presence ? 

Nor was there any reason why she should. Her 
father had been quietly prepared for what he was 
to expect, during the brief tete-a-tete with his 
hostess that had followed his entrance, and natur- 
ally he was proud and delighted at the news. It 


238 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


was a fine thing that one of his daughters was to 
be the mistress of an establishment like this ; and 
if Claudia had more experience and dignity, at 
least his little Dorothy did not lack for mother- 
wit, and would doubtless soon learn to fill the 
position to which she had been called. He had 
sometimes felt vague qualms as to the way in 
which his youngest grown-up daughter was set 
aside and ignored, though he never had had the 
energy to speak his mind, or dispute Claudia’s 
judgments. It was, therefore, a source of relief 
and satisfaction to find that no harm had been 
done to her by the system hitherto pursued. 

So when she appeared, with Ralph in close 
attendance, his heart warmed towards her with 
a gush of unwonted paternal love. 

“ My little Dorothy ! Is this really so ? My 
dearest child, I wish you joy with all my heart 1 
You have indeed prepared a very happy surprise 
for us. — Ralph, my lad, what am I to say to you, 
stealing a march upon us like this ? I suppose 
it is no use expecting you to sue for my consent ? 
You young people seem to have taken the law 
into your own hands.” 

“Well, sir, we couldn’t have taken a better 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 


239 


thing into our hands in these lawless days, could 
we ? Besides, circumstances obliged us to act for 
ourselves. I felt sure you couldn’t object to such 
a harmless fellow as myself for a son-in-law. My 
mother will give me an excellent character, I 
assure you ; and who should know better than a 
mother ? I ’ll make . her happy, I promise you 
that. I don’t think you want anything more.” 

And Ralph, who had now wrung his future 
father-in-law warmly by the hand, turned to 
Claudia and Mabel with a kind of easy brotherly 
cordiality. They had by this time kissed Dorothy, 
and Claudia was doing her utmost to cover her 
surprise and confusion, and not to betray any 
annoyance. 

“ Well, how are you both ? We are very glad to 
welcome you here ; all the more glad from the 
double tie that binds us together now. I don’t 
flatter myself I deceived two such clever people as 
you. If women have half the sharpness they are 
credited with, you must have been pretty well 
prepared. Our carefully prepared surprise has 
fallen rather flat, I fear.” 

Mabel laughed ; Claudia answered graciously 
that, “of pourse, they had seen and suspected 


240 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


something,” and before very long, at Mrs. Seymour s 
suggestion, Dorothy took her sisters upstairs to 
show them their rooms. 

If it was a bitter pill for the elder sister to swal- 
low — seeing the youngest sister preferred before 
her — yet she resolved she would accept the inevit- 
able with good grace ; and Mabel, who had been 
for some weeks expecting a denouement of the 
kind, was quite prepared to be kind and cordial. 
Dorothy knew that Mabel’s attitude towards her 
had altered — she had heard that much from Ralph. 
Claudia, whose instincts were not fine, had not 
been aware of this change, for Mabel had never 
spoken of it or allowed her to see that her opinions 
had modified. We all of us have a kind of 
shrinking from announcing any sudden alteration 
in our mental attitude, and Mabel had kept her 
own counsel until the right moment had come. 

She considered that now this moment had 
arrived ; and after Claudia had kissed Dorothy 
with as much cordiality as she could assume, and 
had spoken a few words of congratulation, the 
younger sisters let her shut the door of her room 
upon herself, and then turned to each other with 
beaming smiles. 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 


241 


M Dear Mabel,” said Dorothy, for the first time 
since her childhood throwing her arms round her 
sister’s neck, “ Ralph has told me how good and 
kind you were ! You do not- know how much 
obliged I am to you for not being vexed or 
angry.” 

Mabel returned the embrace warmly. 

“ You are a little sly puss, all the same, Dolly ; 
and all your grand ideas culminate at last in 
marrying a rich man, and settling down to a life of 
ease and luxury. But as you are giving us a 
charming brother in Ralph I will not be the one 
to scold.” 

“ I am so glad you like one another ; he likes 
you very much, Mabel, and has done so ever since 
the day you went down the weir together. It is 
so nice to have one of my own sisters for a real 
friend. We always will be friends now, Mabel, 
won’t we ? ” 

“ I hope so, indeed, my dear. It will be all 
to my advantage to ‘ keep in ’ with the Lady of 
the Manor. What a charming house this is, Dolly ! 
I hope you will succeed in living up to it.” 

“ I hope so, indeed,” answered Dorothy, laugh- 
ing, as she kissed Mabel again before leaving her. 

Q 


242 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“In every way, you know,” she added, with a 
touch of sweet gravity, as she vanished down the 
corridor. 

Mabel was not in the least jealous of her sister’s 
happiness. Indeed, she had a feeling that her own 
fate was soon to be sealed. She had met Mr. 
Harold Sopely at one of the houses they had been 
visiting ; and, as the object of his first admiration 
appeared unattainable, he had, as it seemed, trans- 
ferred his admiration and devotion intact to her 
sister. He was a good-hearted youth, not in the 
least intellectual, but easy-going, kindly, and 
desirous of living up to the position to which his 
great wealth seemed to entitle him. A nice wife 
was all he needed to turn into a very passable 
subject ; and in many ways Mabel appeared admir- 
ably suited to him. She was clever in a superficial 
way, yet did not feel his lack of intellectual power, 
and she had excellent spirits, and a strong love of 
the good things that wealth could buy. 

Nothing of a public nature had been stated as 
yet ; but the girl felt certain of an assured future, 
and did not envy her younger sister the brilliant 
prospect before her. She began to see very plainly 
that she and Ralph would never have suited one 


GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK. 


248 


another, and almost wondered how she had ever 
believed that a marriage with him would have 
brought happiness. She watched him that evening 
with some intentness of scrutiny. She did not 
know that he observed her ; but presently he came 
up and asked with his cool, nonchalant air of 
mastery — 

“ Well, Mabel, what is the conclusion ? ” 

“The conclusion of what ? ” 

“ Of this persistent stock-taking. What do you 
make of your future brother ? ” 

“ I think he could be something of a tyrant.” 

“ Very good. I ’ve a natural weakness towards 
an autocratic government, provided always that the 
autocrat is myself. Anything else ? ” 

“ I ’m wondering when it comes to a tussle of will, 
who will get the mastery ? ” 

“ Mentally pitting us one against the other. You 
think that Dorothy too has a will of her own ? ” 

“ Don’t you ? ” 

“ I reserve my judgment. I have nothing to 
complain of so far. So this move on our part did 
not take you quite by surprise ? ” 

“ Not quite.” 

“ And you are pleased ? ” 


244 


Dorothy's vocation. 


“ Very pleased,” and she gave him her hand 
frankly and freely. 

“ You ought to be, for you aided and abetted ! * 
“Did I?” 

“Yes, for it was you who first put it into my 
head seriously to go down to Shag’s Bay. After that 
the rest was easy.” 

“ It seems to me, Ralph, that you did not need 
any great amount of assistance. You seem quite 
strong enough to fight your own battles unaided. 
I think I will back you when the tussle comes ; but 
it is an amusing end to Dorothy and her vocation.” 

“ An end ? A beginning, you mean. All this 
time she has been vaguely hunting about for a 
proper field in which to exercise her many talents. 
Now she has found what she has long been search- 
ing for, and will settle to it with a hearty good-will. 
It is Dorothy’s Vocation to be my wife ; and that 
will be a lifelong task from which there can be no 
possible shrinking.” 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

H ! Dolly dear, please tell us what it is — 
we don’t understand ! Cousin Ralph 
says he wont be * Cousin Ralph ’ much 
longer, but ‘ Brother Ralph.’ He said he 
was going to turn into a brother, and we 
don’t know how he can. Wilfred thinks he was in 
fun, but he said he wasn’t. Do tell us, Dolly; 
i can he turn into a brother ? ’ 

Dorothy laughed at Winnie’s eager questions, 
and at the look upon the fond, puzzled faces turned 
towards her, and she sat down beside the cheerful 
log fire, lifting Bernie up on her lap. 

“ Do tell us, Dolly — can he ? ” 

« I think Cousin Ralph can generally do what he 
has a mind to,” answered Dorothy gravely. 

“ But why does he want to be our brother ? 

245 



246 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


questioned Winnie. “ I don’t see what difference 
it will make to him.” 

Dorothy laughed a little low laugh of amuse- 
ment at that way of putting the matter, and a light 
of inspiration seemed to fall upon Bertie, the eldest 
of the quartette. 

“ I know ! ” he suddenly exclaimed. 

“ What do you know ? ” asked his brothers and 
sister in a breath. 

“ I know how Cousin Ralph can turn i^to our 
brother.” 

- How?” 

“ Why, by marrying Dolly, t o be sure ; because 
she ’s our sister.” 

Three pairs of eyes round with surprise were 
fixed hard on Dorothy’s face ; but Wilfred struck 
in with another idea — 

" But he would be our brother too, if he married 
Claudia or Mabel.” 

“ Of course he would,” answered Bertie ; adding 
however, with a comical intonation of contempt, “but 
as if Cousin Ralph would be such a stupid as that!” 

“ Oh ! Dolly,” cried Winnie, in a voice half 
dolorous, half delighted, “ are you really, really 
going to marry Cousin Ralph ? ” 



















CONCLUSION. 


249 


“ Yes, really, pussy-cat, by-and-by. Don’t you 
think it ’s very nice of me to give you such a kind 
big brother ? ” 

“ I don’t ’spect you will give him to us,” said 
solemn Bernie ; “ I ’spect you will keep him all 
to yourself.” 

“ Not all,” laughed Dorothy ; “ you shall have 
a little share sometimes. You see, he is so big 
that we shall manage to divide him. — Well, 
Winnie, what do you want to know ? ” 

“ Shall you wear a white frock and a white thing 
over your head, and a big lot of white flowers, like 
the ladies in the weddings nurse takes us to see in 
the big church near home ? ” asked the child, who, 
in her own small way, was a true daughter of Eve ; 
“ shall you, Dolly ? ” 

“Oh, yes ! I daresay. We will settle all that 
when the time comes.” 

“And may I have a white frock, too? And 
may I hold your flowers for you when ‘ ring-time ’ 
comes ? ” persisted Winnie, who seemed remarkably 
well up in the details of the marriage ceremony. 

Dorothy laughed and kissed her, and said, 
“ Yes.” 

But Wilfred’s face had grown grave and troubled. 


250 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


“ But if Dolly marries Cousin Ralph, she *11 go 
away with him ; people always do when they ’re 
married, you know ; and we shan’t have her any 
longer. — Oh ! Dolly, don’t go ; we can’t spare you ! 
We shall be miserable if you go away and leave 
us ; ” and Wilfred’s lip quivered, whilst Bernie 
broke into an unpremeditated howl, feeling it 
incumbent to make some kind of a protest, 
although he had only very vague ideas as to what 
it was all about. 

But Dorothy was prepared for a scene of this 
kind, and forewarned is forearmed. 

“ Now, listen to me, children,” she said, “ for I ’ve 
got something very nice to tell you. You like 
staying in this house, don’t you?” A chorus of 
assent was the answer. “ Well, then, Cousin Ralph 
likes having you here, and so does Mrs. Seymour ; 
and when it is my home, you may be quite sure 
I shall like it too. Do you know that all of 
you are invited to stay on a good many weeks 
here ? and so am I ; and when we go back to 
the city, Cousin Ralph and Mrs. Seymour will come 
too. Then next year you two boys, Bertie and 
Willie, are to go to school, if Willie is quite strong 
again ; and the school we have chosen is only live 


CONCLUSION. 


251 


miles away from this house, so I shall often come 
and see you, and when you have half-holidays you 
will be able to come here to spend them. As for 
you two mites, you will often come here on a visit, 
and I shall often be at home ; and I am going 
to find such a nice kind lady to live with you and 
take care of you, instead of Miss Mansell, that you 
will hardly miss Dolly at all.” And with great tact 
and knowledge of children’s feelings and thoughts 
she talked on, painting it all in such bright, attrac- 
tive colours that the little faces soon broke into 
eager smiles, and the plaintive ring passed out of 
the childish voices. After all, they agreed, it would 
be better to have a new brother in Cousin Ralph, 
and a sort of fairy godmother in Dolly, than to go 
back to the old routine of nursery life, without the 
prospect of these many delightful changes and sur- 
prises. 

“ Well, I ’m glad that is all so satisfactorily 
settled,” said a voice out of the dim shadows 
of the room, and Wilfred sprang forward, ex- 
claiming — 

“ Oh, Cousin Ralph, we didn’t know you were 
there ! ” 

“Listeners never ought to hear any good of 


252 - 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


themselves,” said Dorothy. “ I ’m half-afraid you 
did not meet your deserts.” 

“ At least, I heard good of somebody else,” he 
said, standing behind her chair, and laying his 
hands upon her shoulders. “ So, children, you are 
willing to let me have Dolly, and to take me for a 
brother to make up ? ” 

“You must be very good to her,” said Wilfred 
judicially, “ because, you know, she ’s very good to 
everybody, and she doesn’t think much about her- 
self.” 

“ So you have found that out too, have you, 
youngster? Well, take care that you keep it in 
mind as you grow up, and try to emulate it as 
much as you can. Yes, I will take care of Doro- 
thy when she is mine, and you shall all come very 
often to see her, and satisfy yourselves that I am 
doing it properly. We ’ll have some fine times to- 
gether yet, all of us together, and you shan’t find 
that you are losers in the long run for letting me 
have Dorothy peaceably and cheerfully. Will that 
satisfy you ? You know I always keep my pro- 
mises, don’t you ? There, then, don’t pull me in 
pieces, but off with you all. It’s high time you 
were in bed — and I want Dorothy.” 


CONCLUSION. 


253 


“ Dear little things ! ” said Dorothy softly, after 
silence had followed their somewhat vociferous 
good-nights. “ They are so good and reasonable — 
so much more unselfish than most children.” 

“ They have had an example before their eyes, 
you see, and have not been blind to it.” 

She laid her hand laughingly upon his lips, as 
they stood together in the ruddy firelight of the 
dusky room. 

“ You must not say things like that, Ralph. I 
shall not know you if you begin to praise.” 

He put his arm about her as she stood, drawing 
her more closely to himself. 

“ You see, it comes natural to me to praise my- 
self ; and now that you belong to me, you come 
under the category of things to be praised.” 

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, 
so that she could look up at him. She was not 
now afraid to meet that light in his eyes, half- 
tender, half-mocking, that she knew so well. 

“ Ralph, you are a bad boy, and I shall not praise 
you, though I know how dearly you love it. It 
will have to be my vocation now to keep your 
pride in check.” 

“ It will be your vocation, Dorothy, to make me 


254 


Dorothy’s vocation. 


and all around you happy,” he said, in his slow, 
quiet way, “ and that is a vocation you will not be 
able to escape. You will have to fulfil it whether 
you like it or not ; for you will not be able to 
help yourself. Such is life, my child. Women 
with vocations always do end, you know, by doing 
something they never contemplated in the least at 
starting.” 


THE ENBI 











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